


Other People's Heartache

by wingsofstarlight (CheshireCatLife)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Political Animals
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Crossover, Domestic Fluff, Drug Addiction, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, So be warned, Suicide Attempt, but only rarely and when I'm in a good mood, everyone in this book is an absolute arsehole, for like the whole book, there's some violence but it's like one line but it's kinda a gory line
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2020-08-20 03:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 97,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCatLife/pseuds/wingsofstarlight
Summary: When Steve meets TJ, he sees another face. But it doesn't hold for long; soon, Steve is blinded by his, well, everything.Enough to make him forgiving, kind, too kind...Then it all comes tumbling down.





	1. prologue: let me down slowly

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this might be long but I'm going to split this up.
> 
> INTRODUCTION
> 
> Thank you for reading. I'm trying to not expect much from this because it is a crossover but I've spent the last few months writing this (and I'm not even half way done) and I'm proud that I've gotten this far. This is the longest, and probably most ambitious, thing I've ever written. So thank you so much for giving it a chance.
> 
> VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE. PLEASE READ!!!
> 
> I would genuinely be so grateful if you could leave a rating and review on this. I am working on making this better in a second draft and it would be hugely helpful to me. I am not afraid of bad reviews and if you give up after half a page, putting down why would help me a lot. My favourite way to do is to do a star rating out of five, a what went well (WWW) and an even better if (EBI). It’s cheesy, I know, and a lot like what you do at school but it is beyond helpful if you could do so. Doesn't matter if you do it every chapter or just at the end of part one, I would be so, so thankful. Thank you :)
> 
> NOTES ON THE STORY ITSELF
> 
> -The dates are important. You can’t really skip some of them; you will genuinely become confused, so pay attention.
> 
> -I am English, I write like an English person. But, the characters are American, so this can slip often between American and British English. Please excuse that.
> 
> -In this story, TJ and Bucky don’t actually really look like Sebastian Stan in my head. Although they look similar, enough for Steve to mix them up, they aren’t doppelgängers. They just have similar features. 
> 
> -I'm one of those people that didn't like Steve's ending (though not because I don't like Peggy/Steve, I thought the scene itself was cute) so I've ignored the time travel and made Daniel Sousa Peggy's husband. I still have yet to watch Agent Carter so he's not an important character. He's just mentioned.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> Anything triggering should be put in the tags. If I've missed anything, point it out and I'll add it in.
> 
> GENERAL NOTES
> 
> -Exhibits at the Smithsonian were all October 2013 onwards but that had to be changed for the sake of the plot
> 
> -Brooklyn, the TV show, is not real. Or, if it is, I’m not referring to that. I just needed it for the conversation.
> 
> BIBLIOGRAPHY
> 
> (I use a lot of odd details that come from real life in this story so I'm going to do my best to show my sources)
> 
> -https://www.timeanddate.com/calendar/monthly.html?year=2013&month=3&country=1 (dates)
> 
> -https://www.timeanddate.com/weather/usa/new-york/historic?month=1&year=2016 (weather)
> 
> -https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/stress-anxiety-depression/types-of-therapy/ (only applies later in the story)
> 
> -addictioncentre.com (details on cocaine addiction)
> 
> -https://addictionresource.com/rehab-stories/cocaine-addiction-stories/ (in-depth stories of cocaine addiction)
> 
> -va.gov (PTSD, compensation...etc)
> 
> -NHS.uk (therapy research)
> 
> -https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=smithsonian+art+museum&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8 (museum exhibits and paintings)
> 
> -A lot of other fics also helped me. I tried not to take them as always completely accurate but it helped my through different sections. (So thanks to fics like 'Lillies with Full Hands' and 'Known Associates' and so many more)
> 
> -Title is taken from 'Previously on Other People's Heartache' by Bastille
> 
> \----
> 
> Thank you so much for choosing to read my story.  
Fouryearslater.

* * *

_ **PART 1: PREVIOUSLY ON OTHER PEOPLE’S HEARTACHE** _

* * *

**Friday, 20th September 2013**

The clock cried loudly in the silence, matching every ten palpitations of his heart to a second. He shook rapidly as he fumbled with the powder until it was in a straight line, the razor discarded lazily in the sink.

He didn’t want to do this (_he didn’t want to_) but he couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t keep acting in denial, delusion and disarray like his life was a fucking film when it wasn’t. He couldn’t keep pretending that this would work. He couldn’t keep pretending that hiding this was going to do anything but make it worse.

He couldn’t, _he couldn’t, HE CAN’T_.

He should have told him a long time ago.

He should have stopped even longer ago.

TJ’s hands, sticky with sweat, reached towards the powder, hovering over it, ready to send it away in a puff of white smoke and be done with it.

He could stop this. He could keep his promise. He could keep his _dignity_.

But it just wasn’t in TJ’s nature.

He took his hand away, he leant forward, took a breath and _sniffed_.

“TJ!” Someone called. _Fuck_. He was buzzing, buzzing like his flesh might just escape his skin, so much so that when he attempted to keep the door shut, he crashed into the wooden frame, underestimating his body. But, he should have known - he should have _fucking_ known - that the man on the other side of the door was not going to be held back by TJ’s weak, untrained muscle.

(But he couldn’t be allowed to see! He couldn’t know. Or could he? Maybe he could join, maybe he could…)

“TJ, are you okay?” He called through the door, loud knocks resonating through his bones like they were strings on a guitar. TJ trembled and held tighter, mumbling urgently under his breath, his back against the door: “get it together, get it together, get it together…”

“TJ, seriously, you’re scaring me. What’s happening in there?”

“Nothing,” TJ replied, choking on a sob, collapsing the whole facade. Before he even had time to react, Steve had stormed through the door, pushing TJ onto the sink.

Steve didn’t even have to use his super strength or whatever the fuck it was.

The bathroom of TJ’s house - so posh that it looked more like a living room than a bathroom, _that_ kind of bathroom - was a wreck. Steve stared at it like it was a crime scene. Powder (_oh god, so much powder_). Betrayal scarred his face, like TJ has just jammed a knife between his ribs and laughed.

“TJ,” Steve choked, shock holding back the tirade of emotions that threatened to overcome him.

“Steve-“

“No, don’t. I…I told you, TJ. This wasn’t…” Steve took a deep breath, not letting any tears spill. “I’m done. Bye, TJ. I’ll come back to get my stuff when you’re sober.” Steve stormed out, leaving a trail of indignant anger behind him and a slammed door in TJ’s face. TJ was left, sink digging into the small of his back, thinking _was it ever fucking worth it?_


	2. stressed out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, the title of each chapter is based off a song. Some will have multiple. Chapter 1 was 'Let Me Down Slowly' by Alec Benjamin. This is based off 'Stressed Out' by Twenty One Pilots.

**Wednesday, 26th December 2012**

“Steve, that isn’t a request, that is a _command_. You’re a public figure now; that’s what they _do_,” Fury sighed, arms crossed.

“No,” Steve argued vehemently, staring down at the careful calligraphy of the invitation (card not paper), “this is what _rich_ people do to pretend they care. This isn’t actually helping. I’ve seen the cost of these things, the amount actually going to charity is next to nothing.”

“You’re stuck in the past again. That isn’t how they work. Frankly, I don’t think that’s how they ever worked. But, there are _laws_ now: regulations, promises. Everything’s going to the charity, I promise you that. Look, you just gotta do it, whether you think it’s going to help or not.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to help,” Steve replied indignantly, pushing down the shame that threatened to stain his face red. “I’d just rather do it in a way that I knew was helping people.”

“What, you gonna go down to the VA and just fix all their problems? It needs funding, Steve, that’s what these things are for. Hell, it’s not as if you’ll go down to the VA yourself.”

“Because I don’t _need_ to. But that has nothing to do with this,” Steve sighed, pushing down his anger; punching Fury wouldn’t be one of his better life decisions (not that _that_ had ever held him back before). “I just want to help in a way I know is going to _do something_.

“You’re right, this isn’t about you but it’s not exactly helping your case, Rogers. Just go. It doubles up as a New Years Eve party. If not for any other reason, go for that. You’re not obliged to donate, only to be there. You’re famous now, Steve, you’re gonna have to learn to deal with that.” With that, Fury left, black trench coat flying behind him, exiting before Steve could even begin to argue his case. So Steve remained speechless, wondering how the hell he was supposed to escape the duty that fell upon him.

But things were never that easy nowadays. He had an obligation; people had put their faith in him and he wasn’t going to let them down. But that didn’t really explain it. Realistically, if Steve didn’t show, nothing would change. This wasn’t someone’s life on the line. He would donate anyway, his presence wasn’t needed. Steve wasn’t sure though…

For a second, Steve wished he was at war again: black and white, simple. He dismissed the thought, he knew that’s not what he wanted. He still had flashbacks sometimes. He could see it all just behind his eyes, like a tape rolling on and on, never ending, just repeating itself in a loop, showing the same vivid images of blood, gore and desperation.

Steve Rogers had only been out of the ice for around six months, give or take a few weeks. The memories still clung so close to him, he was almost sure people could smell it (just like he could still smell Peggy’s perfume, just like he could still faintly remind himself of the smell of Bucky’s pomade…just as he could still hear Bucky’s screams).

Steve shook…he…he couldn’t-

Moving on. Modern life, as was to be expected, was still only on the periphery of his mind. He had things to focus on: missions, his duty. This, however, was not what he wanted to be focusing on. He’d gotten on board with plenty of modern amenities. Technology, sure, he’d gotten on board with that. He remembered getting his first radio and having to fiddle around with the dials, listening to a few frequencies he didn’t even know existed, before he’d figured out how it had worked. Figuring new things out wasn’t new to him. Hell, he learnt to drive in Nazi Germany: in a situation of pressure, Steve knew he could learn anything. This party, however, fell under _the other_ category of acclimatisation because despite what most people thought, technology was never going to be the hardest part of getting used to modern life. It was what Steve liked to call the barrier of his ‘atavistic tendencies’ (it sounded a little less stupid if he stuck a few fancy words in there). Or, in layman’s terms, culture shock. At every twist and turn, he was stumped by language, references and body language that, for the most part, hadn’t existed seventy years ago. But, it wasn’t the new things that stumped him; he could learn them like he learnt his military number mere days after being signed up. It was the words that had _changed_ in their meanings. Wicked no longer meant cruel. Cool no longer meant mildly cold; nor did hot mean drastically warm. There were words that slipped out and garnered disgust or ones that made people’s eyebrows twitch like they wanted to correct him but weren’t quite sure whether it was worthwhile.

That didn’t mean all the new words were easy. He’d heard a bunch of teenagers shouting ‘noob’ at one of their friends (he’d looked it up and been none the wiser to its meaning). He’d been told off for ‘photobombing’. Tony had described one of his inventions as a ‘flop’ and Clint had shouted ‘sick’ when the final product had been shown to the group (a new laser cannon for the Iron Man suit).

So, Steve was culture shocked, to say the least. No matter what people said, this wasn’t America anymore. No, it wasn’t _his_ America. He felt like an Irish immigrant all over again (second generation or not), pushed to the periphery and ignored or teased or bullied or mocked. Except, this time, it was just him. He didn’t have a sub-culture in Brooklyn to hide within. No, he was famous now. Alone and famous.

The spotlight blinded him as it uncovered the emptiness surrounding him, filled by the ghosts of unreachable memories. Steve had dealt with the empty gaps his whole life but he’d never dealt with a spotlight before.

The worst thing about it all was that he _stood_ for America. He fought for freedom, liberty and humanity: the American ideals that the country had fought for over and over again. And sure, he still did. Freedom was what he had fought for then and it was what he fought for now. Except he wasn’t sure. SHIELD, who’d recruited him fresh out of the ice and burdened with the cumbersome memories of a time he couldn’t allow himself to forget, didn’t stand for freedom. Or liberty. Or even humanity. SHIELD, for all the good they did, certainly had a lot of secrets. They worked in the grey areas and admitted to seeping into the light as much as they hid slipping into the dark. This wasn’t the warfare that he had been trained for. This wasn’t black and white anymore.

Steve had always been a black and white kinda guy.

Staring down at the invitation, he sighed and flung it onto the table. He was in the SHIELD apartment, despite his assertive declaration that he could get his own place. It wasn’t all that bad. Bit blank, bit beige, but nothing he would complain about. Better than his last place, anyway. The one before the war, that was. This, if he scraped for the positives, was at least miles ahead of the tent he’d slept in during the war (with a few breaks in hostels and hotels if they were really lucky).

It was modern, he guessed, that would be a plus for most. Sturdy looking (although the bed still squeaked under his weight). It was the perfect place to stay for the night but Steve couldn’t really imagine making it a proper home. It was pleasant enough, though, he reminded himself. Pleasant and when the sun hit just right, it was even good for his daily doodles: even if they were rapidly dwindling in number.

Despite all that, the silence swallowed him whole. Even when the light settled softly on the table, he couldn’t muster the inspiration to draw. The clock ticked like Death’s bell in his ear and the muted tones did nothing but lull him to sleep.

His eyes cast themselves downwards, trying to distract him from his own inability. The table - old but still probably made far after he was alive…last alive, anyway - taunted him, acting as a pedestal for the dreaded card.

In swirling letters wrote:

_We invite you, Steven Grant Rogers, to our annual charity New Years ball!_

Too many adjectives, Steve thought. It just about said everything. Information was scattered over the card but Steve focused on the small paragraph at the bottom.

_In support of the Veterans Association project ‘Project: Mayday’, we have organised a night of festivities and fundraising in order to help those who have fought for our country and thank them for their service._

_Selling the newest artworks from the likes of Lalanne and Staël, we will be holding a once-in-a-lifetime auction to raise funds for this inspiring cause._

_We hope you can join us,_

_Tony Stark._

_RSVP: Stark Industries, pepperpotts@si.com_

_(to see further information about ‘Project: Mayday’ visit, va.gov/projectmayday)_

Well, Steve thought, at least Pepper was running it (because we all know that if Stark’s name was on the invitation, it was Pepper’s job): that was the only hope he had. Tony would have to be there too, he thought. That might have been a reason to go. Despite his and Tony’s…fragile relationship, there was still an imperative friendship between them. Although Steve was, technically, the leader of the team, Tony did no less work. Whilst Steve led them into battle, Tony prepared them. He built the armour, he had the money, he had - when push came to shove - been the one to keep them together after the New York disaster. He wasn’t exactly _happy_ about it but he wasn’t in denial. Tony was a narcissist who, at first, Steve hadn’t thought deserved much but a punch to his jaw but as Tony revealed more and more of himself, Steve couldn’t help the growing affection. Tony was hidden in layers of gory costumes but underneath it all, he really was just a man.

Guess that was that then: he was going. Well, actually, it didn’t mean he was. But, he’d try, at least. For Tony. Yes. His mind was set on it. He still had a week to prepare anyway. Sadly, the Avengers were out of work for the time being. Since New York, they hadn’t actually done all that much. Steve was, for the most part, unemployed.

He wasn’t exactly happy about that either.

The thing was, what was he supposed to do? His skill set was too specific and his knowledge too outdated. His methods were slow and cumbersome in comparison to the tech-whizzes of today (though, Steve noted, the older people got, the more the trend tended towards his tech naivety). His work ethic was strong but would be outweighed by his fame.

No one would take him.

Or everyone would take him. That could have been worse.

So, either way, Steve was left jobless. That, in turn, left Steve with a lot of time on his hands. So, to be fair, what else did he have to do but get ready for a party that actually wasn’t all that close in the grand scheme of his empty life? He didn’t have friends, not really. He and Thor got on surprisingly well, that was outsiders for you, but he had gone back to Asgard for the meantime, leaving Steve with a lot of people that he may have _liked_ but still felt an ingrained cautiousness about. Natasha, no matter how beautiful and sleek, was sly and deceiving; Steve couldn’t bring himself to trust her outside a mission. Clint was…well, interesting. Steve couldn’t place him: was he messy or organised, childish or mature? Everything about him seemed to contradict itself, each blue tendril of his personality wrapped by another red strand. Then there was Bruce: untouchable, worrisome and dangerous. And yet, kind. So, so kind. He smiled at Steve when no one else did. He empathised when no one else could. But he was still so distant, like he was as from a distant world as Thor. Then again, wasn’t Steve too?

Then there was Tony. Maybe the closest he got to a friend. He was the closest, the one Steve had probably been exposed to the most, despite their opposition. But that was exactly it. Despite their friendship, Steve was never going to…well, he didn’t know what they did nowadays but if it had been back in the day, Tony wasn’t the kinda guy he would have brought to the community hall on dance night nor the kind of guy he’d chat to on the way to work.

That left Steve with…well, no one. Fury and Maria were his bosses. All his other possible friends were co-workers. Steve didn’t have hobbies, he didn’t go out, he didn’t do classes or clubs or actives or…anything.

So, Steve would go to this gala, if not just to fill a bit of time. And, in turn, he would spend this week getting ready for the gala, if not just to fill the rest of his time.

Already, Steve was feeling the emptiness ensconce him as he sat in the shadows of his house. He just needed to do something, whatever that was.

So, yeah, getting out. That would be a good thing.

Wouldn’t it?

** Thursday, 27th December 2012 **

It occurred to Steve the next day that going to this ball was going to require more thought than he imagined. He stared at the list in front of him, written in the old fashioned scrawl that all the Avengers liked to tease him over; except, when written in biro and not fountain pen, it suddenly didn’t look like his old writing at all. Christ, it was odd. The ink felt so…stiff-

Moving on. Steve had a list. A fairly short list, to be fair. Nevertheless, one he had to get through. Although, he wasn’t sure where to start, never mind how to tackle the first item. Jesus Christ.

He stared down at the list, blank eyes listlessly staring at the curling letters.

  1. Get a suit.

Steve did not own a suit. He had used to own a suit but when he’d woken up, they’d said the only ‘suit’ he’d need was Captain America’s. He had an army blazer, decorated in a few too many medals for him to be comfortable with, but that seemed…ostentatious? He was proud to have served his country but this was a charity gala; he didn’t want to get attention for his medals, he’d rather just be… drowned out by the sheer number of celebrities that mingled in the hall. Steve, over the course of his life, had watched from the periphery: it would be easier that way. He didn’t want a fancy, well-fitting suit. Thinking about well-fitting, Steve didn’t think he’d ever actually had a suit that fit him in either. Back in the 30s, he’d used one of Buck’s old ones but that was still too big for him. And for pretty much his whole life, he’d just repaired that one. Of course, he’d had his Sunday suit but that was a leftover from being a child, no matter how old he’d worn it. It was a rather embarrassing ordeal to go out in it. There had been his army suit, though, before it had been decorated in medals. That might have been the only time where he’d truly felt like he fit in. Even if he hadn’t. Not really.

Christ, he needed to stop wishing for the godforsaken war. (But, for something so horrifying, his memories of it were tinged by the love and friendship of the people he was surrounded by. He couldn’t stand it).

  1. Shoes and Accessories. 

Fine, that was an extension of the whole ‘outfit’ obstacle he had to overcome. But still, Steve was all for small leaps of progress. (It was better than no progress at all). Steve had never really bothered with shoes nor accessories. Steve, despite being an artist, didn’t really have an eye for fashion. He saw people, he saw nature, but what you put on it never really interested him. Buck had always been the one to show off a new suit and a wristwatch that Steve thought, to this day, that Bucky had stolen from Mr Tucker down the street: a balding man who owned a pawn shop and never hesitated to scream at the little kids who dared make noise around his shop. Buck had been the one to gel his hair back and flash a charming smile and an oncoming girl.

God, even when he was dead, Steve was still chasing after his shadow. Not that he ever minded, this was Buck. He was jealous, sure, but it was his best friend, decades ago or not.

He missed him, though…

Moving on.

  1. Plus One

For all Steve’s absolute incompetency with fashion, Steve felt doubly at a loss when he saw in small print that he had the option to bring a plus one along. He knew he didn’t _have_ to. Yet, somehow, he felt obligated to. Why? He wasn’t sure. (Was that Bucky’s voice in his ear, shouting that with this new body, that it would be no hardship to bring a gal around. No, it would be _rude_ not to have a gal on his arm. And he better or else the ghost of Bucky Barnes was going to haunt him for as long as Steve was alive. Steve would have liked that…) Then again, who did he know that hadn’t been invited? He knew the SHIELD agents but not…well, not enough to invite them to some fancy ball. He’d never thought about _dating_ any of them either, so it wasn’t as if he could - as awkwardly as ever - ask if they’d like to go with him (little did he know that was an awful idea for a first date, anyway). On top of all that, he didn’t think he could even face the idea of dating. He didn’t like how they did it nowadays, old-fashioned view or not.

Anyway, he told himself, he was too busy for that sort of stuff.

So, guess that was one thing he could probably just tick off there and then.

  1. Charity

Vague, he knew, but this was a charity gala so was he supposed to do something, right? Did he _have_ to do something? Sure, he’d raised bonds for the war effort but he hadn’t been Captain America long enough to do _charity events_, he didn’t have any idea what they involved never mind how they worked! He didn’t raise money for soldiers, dying children or hospitals: that was left for the philanthropists, the rich and the dying themselves. Steve cared, he really did, especially when it came to a veteran project like Project: Mayday, but he would do much better being told to protect the soldiers in the battlefield than protecting them once he got home.

He had enough on his own plate; he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to put on theirs.

(Apart from flashbacks, nightmares and grief)

Then there was another problem: money. Steve was sure he had some but there was something a little disconcerting about neither living hand to mouth nor being able to see the amount of money he had physically. In his head, he knew exactly how much money he had. He’d seen his bank account. He knew it was a fair bit, even including inflation. But, how much were you supposed to give to a charity if you went to a charity event? No, scrap that. How was he supposed to give money? There was an auction, he knew that. But did he have to? Was there another way of donating? Who did he give it to? The man at the gate? Christ, this was harder than he anticipated.

So, action plan. That was what came next. Right? 1) Suit. Go to the mall, someone would point him in the right direction, it would be fine. (Tony would later send him to the tailors when he saw the monstrosity that was the shop-bought suit). 2) Shoes and accessories. Scrapped. Pepper gave him some cufflinks as a Christmas gift, though, that was nice: he would wear them. Maybe he’d buy a watch later too. 3) Plus One. Again, scrapped. It wasn’t worth thinking about. (Maybe he just really wanted a haunting) And 4) Well, he’d message Pepper and ask, as well as give her his RSVP. He was sure he could get an answer somehow.

The only challenge now was how was he supposed to get over his own hubris to be able to do so?

** Monday, 31st December 2012 **

Steve watched the onslaught of people with a careful eye. The lights caught eyes like crystals as people spun around the dance floor, sweaty hands clutching delicate fingers. Though, Steve noted with careful detachment, there was at least one couple where their delicate fingers were intertwined. The countdown to midnight was the focus of the ballroom, with at least three spotlights shining relentlessly on the analogue clock, where the long finger approached VI.

Steve wished it was closer.

Wiping his clammy hands on his tailored suit, Steve fell into the crowd, losing himself in the noise and clamour of the party, flinching each time a loose shoulder battered against his own. Although, despite his removal from modern life, Steve didn’t feel out of place. Apart from the grandeur, the violins were playing familiar notes, in a familiar order. The people wore suits and dresses, not tight fitting t-shirts and jeans. Women flirted veraciously with the men; the men pushed the advances onto their best friend, or whoever was closest, unless they were chasing someone themselves.

Or maybe that was just what Steve wanted to see.

Nevertheless, Steve avoided people’s paths, averting his gaze and striding forward to his undetermined destination. Steve hadn’t seen this many people in one place in years; he’d never been expected to _interact_ with so many people, well, ever. Steve, instead, focused explicitly on the artwork. Now _that_ was familiar. Despite seven decades ticking by, art hadn’t changed. Well, yes it had, he reminded himself. But still, the appreciation for the classics hadn’t altered. Whilst ‘modernism’ had become a firmly established movement (one that Steve hadn’t learnt an appreciation for yet, never had), what lined these pompous ballrooms were still what Steve was familiar with. Although most definitely (they had to be) fake, he saw a few Monet paintings, alongside a few more obscure paintings (though just as clear in his head) from the likes of Rubens, Bosch (personally not his favourite, a little odd, but still artistically flawless) and a few he couldn’t name.

“It’s a beautiful painting,” someone commented from behind him. He didn’t turn, feeling the sweat of his palms pool. A perfectly manicured hand clutched his bicep, as a woman’s voice piped up, “I’m Amelie.” Steve finally turned, eyes slightly too wide to be natural, to see the woman smile brightly, showing off a few too many of her whitened teeth. Her hair shone like a beacon; Steve almost winced. But he’d never do that, not in front of a woman; instead, he tried to smile and ignored the feeling of a thousand eyes on his back.

He could just see the headlines already.

They’ve been wanting something from him ever since he came out of the ice.

“Hello…Amelie,” he replied, surely fudging her name, “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Oh, I know,” she replied with a wink, sensually running her hand up his arm. He gulped. This was awful. He knew both exactly what she wanted and what she was trying to do; he wouldn’t stand for it. Why was it that now the women were the predators more than men? It wasn’t even any better. Once he’d freed plenty a’ girls from the creeping hands of a dodgy guy in a suit, now he had to try and free himself from the drifting of a hand with manicured nails. Steve didn’t know whether it was his new circumstances or the new time but he hoped the pattern wasn’t the norm. Somehow, somewhere, he’d forgotten that this body gave him a whole new perspective. “So, beautiful painting,” she tried again, trying to spark up a conversation that Steve could no longer bear to have.

“Yes. The composition is fascinating. Always is in his paintings.”

“Yes, of course,” Amelie replied, clearly at a loss for anything else to say. Steve sighed, there went his last hope. “I’m…I’m going to go get another drink, it was…it was nice speaking to you.” Freeing his hand roughly from her clutch, he strode away, feeling out of sorts.

Steve still hadn’t learnt the etiquette of small talk. Nor was he all that inclined to. Introversion was deeply ingrained in him; he didn’t think he was going to be able to escape that all that easily. He weaved further through the crowd, his eye line pointedly above the others; no one approached him so he was doing at least something right. His patience, however, was wearing thin. When he looked back up at the clock, less than two minutes had passed and the longer he looked, the slower time went. It took him back to his school days, though he hadn’t stared at the clock back then (it was too far away to see). He’d watch the sun’s position in the sky and from his position in the rickety old stool at the back of the classroom (where he was segregated from the others), he had learnt the exact moment that school was meant to end and then, after that, the exact moment it did. Today was no different, except now that Steve could see the clock as perfectly as he could see the chip in the nail of his left index finger, and whilst Steve Rogers may have once been able to trick himself into believing he’d just got the position wrong, there was no second-guessing the glaring hands of the molten clock. As a song came to an end, and another one began, Steve finally found his position at the edge of the bar, watching couples and friends alike smile and cheer and argue and laugh. Enraptured, Steve didn’t even notice when someone barged past him until it was too late. That was when _he_ appeared.

“Bucky?”

*

TJ’s rendezvous in bathrooms were anything but glamorous. Powder sprinkled like fairy dust under his inflamed nose was not, as he’d like to think, in any way a part of the glamorous lifestyle. But, he was fucking tired and his fix was all that was going to get him through the next dreaded 30 minutes. That’s all it was, 30 minutes. God, he wasn’t going to survive it.

Except he was! He noted with unbridled joy, fix in his system. Now, he got 30 minutes of stress-free small talk and dancing. Not really his scene, especially not with this kind of dancing, but the music helped: whoever was playing the accompanying piano was playing beautifully. Though, probably not as well as he could.

The door squawked and like a couple caught in the act, he jumped almost a mile from the sink, scrubbing his nose fruitlessly. TJ stared at the unopened door, panting. Fuck, he could swear he’d heard something. Shit, shit, _shit_.

Okay, it was time to get out of here. He wasn’t letting some fucking paranoia ruin his high for shit. With a resounding sniff, TJ stumbled out of the bathroom, lips twitching under the pressure of a smile. Maybe he’d play the piano. No! He’d play one of the violins. He’d always wanted to play the violin.

Never got the chance. But he could do it, he was sure of it.

Buzzing, he pushed through the crowds, barely skimming the illustrious dancers on the stage, demonstrating for the peasants underneath, dressed in their cocktail dresses and tailored suits. TJ looked down at his own suit. _Damn_, he was looking good. He thought back to when he was leaving his apartment, eyes blotchy and red; he’d thought he’d looked fat; he was an idiot. Black suited him but my god, the blue tie, that was a good decision - matched his eyes perfectly. Or so he thought. He didn’t have a mirror.

He wished he did.

He fumbled to the bar, calling for a drink (they told him not to get high. They didn’t say anything about staying sober. And sure, he wasn’t holding to the whole ‘not to get high’ thing but that was irrelevant) and took it greedily, slugging down the clear liquid like it was water (it wasn’t). Drink down, he left the bar, feeling the rush of a fresh drink in his stomach and the high of white powder in his head when he hissed “fuck”. He’d forgot to put that on his tab.

If he’d been any more coherent, he might just have remembered that the drinks were complimentary.

He rushed back, trying to remember where’d he left his glass because he sure as hell couldn’t remember what he’d ordered so he most likely needed to do a lot of pointing and ‘paying the bill’ gestures (which, arguably, never seemed to be the same). In the end, he simply decided he’d push to the end and fight to pay for a drink possibly no one remembered him ordering (something he’d never thought he’d do). He pushed passed the crowd, his whole body jerking as a body collided with him (or did he collide with it?). Impossibly quickly, he spun around, ready to shout abuse for a mistake that was (probably) his own fault when he stopped.

_Fuck, this man was _fiiiiiine_._

“Bucky?” Well, didn’t that dampen the mood. But, whatever, if this man wanted to call him Bucky then he guessed that was just his luck because damn if he wasn’t going after this guy.

“Sure. And you?”

“Bucky, it’s me,” the man reiterated uselessly, hope gleaming like a beacon in his eye.

“Of course!” TJ pretended to realise, though it came off as little more than sycophantic. “It’s…_you_.”

“Bucky, what’s…how…we need to talk.” This man, whatever his name was, stood hastily and tugged at TJ’s sleeves, dragging him across the dance floor and into the very same bathroom TJ had just escaped.

_Well, TJ accomplished _that_ mission sooner than he’d planned_.

“Bucky, do you not remember me?”

“Oh, of course I do, you’re…” TJ stopped whatever the fuck he was trying to do and stared at the guy. Actually, thinking about it, this guy was familiar. “You’re…”

Suddenly, the man took a step back, interrupting TJ before he could even hope to push out another word. “You’re not Bucky, are you?” He stated, looking him up and down. The differences were there: how TJ’s frame was thinner and his face longer, how his hair was frizzy rather than flat, how his eyes were just that one shade darker.

TJ’s face fell.

Whatever hope that had gleamed in this guy’s eye was diminished like a bucket of water over a lit splint. TJ almost frightened himself with the despair that followed. Steve had looked at him like, well, wasn’t that the question. It was like he thought TJ had the answers to the universe and god knew that TJ had no fucking answered. But, to be looked at like that, _trusted_ like that, TJ wanted it back.

And he’d only had it for a moment.

A dangerous want lingered.

“No, I am! I am, it’s just…”

“Don’t lie to me. Who are you and why do you have his face?” Ok, _fuuuuck_, this guy could be intimidating when he wanted to be. Which was now, which was right fucking now.

“I…I don’t know who he is and I don’t know who’s face I’ve stolen but I’m sorry, please don’t kill me.”

“I won’t if you tell me why you look like him.” Ok, so it was clear this guy wasn’t actually going to kill him but the threat of it was just as bad. Fuck, if TJ pissed his pants this wasn’t going to go down the way he had wanted it to.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Bucky. Why do you look like Bucky,” the guy reiterated, grabbing TJ’s lapels (ruining a perfectly decent suit). At this point it didn’t even seem intimidating, only desperate.

Who was this guy?

“I don’t know who Bucky is.”

“Who are you?” The guy rerouted.

“TJ. TJ Hammond. I’m- my mum, she’s the Secretary of State.”

“Wait, your mum is _what_?”

“Secretary of State.”

“You’re Elaine’s son?”

“Y-yes?” Well, at least he’d let go of the suit, without much creasing either, good technique…“who are _you?_

“Steve Rogers.”

“You’re…oh fuck. Look, it kinda seems like we got off on the wrong foot here,” TJ began before another thought came to mind, a better thought, a _much_ better thought. TJ sighed dramatically, dragging his finger down _Steve’s_ chest sultrily. “How about a restart?”

“Um, look, TJ, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Why?” TJ asked innocently, fluttering his eyelashes coyly. The game was on.

“You…you look so much like him. I mean, it’s not perfect but…”

“But you like that, don’t you?”

“TJ, stop.”

“Come on, Steve, you know you do. You want it.”

“TJ, stop!” Steve repeated, stronger this time, pushing TJ off. TJ stood, gaping, watching as Steve’s eyes rove over his body. What was he missing here? Why wouldn’t…what was happening? “What are you doing?”

“I…I’m…” TJ fumbled, eyes as wide as a child’s, tears bubbling up slowly.

“Whatever you’re trying, it needs to stop. Now,” Steve ordered, a clear mask of panic barely hidden by the broken facade on his face. “It isn’t going to work. And, dear God, you’re drunk aren’t you?” Not really, less so than usual anyway. Steve was probably seeing more of the symptoms of being high than he was of TJ being drunk. TJ only drank when he was miserable; a depressant for his depression, a match made in heaven. TJ didn’t speak, only continued to stare, as Steve strode up to him and held his face by the chin, examining him. “God, this is weird, you have the same mannerisms. He did just this when he was drunk.” Steve sighed. “You need to go home.”

“No. I…I can make it worth your time to let me stay?”

“No, TJ. Stop. We’re not doing that. I’m not-“ Steve stopped himself but, even in his state, TJ could hear the words that were meant to follow. He couldn’t quite swallow them properly. In fact, he didn’t quite _believe_ them.

“But…but you looked at me like-“

“Like what? Like you were someone else? Because that was _exactly_ how I was looking at you.”

“But you-“

“We’re not having this conversation now. I’m taking you home. Before your mother kills me for being in here with you,” Steve muttered, taking TJ by the shoulders and leading him out ahead of him, too many emotions flickering in his eyes to decipher.

“She wouldn’t-“

“People are gonna think, TJ.”

TJ barked out a harsh laugh. “Of course, of course. Couldn’t let Captain America be seen with the gay boy in the bathroom.” Steve froze for a moment, a look of indignation passing over his eyes but it faded quickly, like he hadn’t been quite brave enough to say something. (Like he wasn’t quite brave enough to say who he really was and why everything TJ said killed him from the inside out).

“We’re getting you home,” is all Steve said, leading TJ carefully by the arm. TJ stumbled once (only once!) and Steve huddled close to his side, keeping him up. TJ leant in smiling and for the first time of the night, Steve didn’t push him away, only led him further out the building, avoiding the main doors. (He was an Avenger, he knew the places blueprints, he knew where the other exits were. Okay, maybe not because he was an Avenger. That was just the boredom that had hit yesterday). No one ran into them, much to Steve’s luck, and they waited patiently outside the hall as TJ called up his driver and said he was going home. The sly tone of the driver, one that had driven home with many a date, did nothing but exacerbate the frown on Steve’s face. TJ, already losing his high, began to frown himself.

“So, this is me,” TJ sighed petulantly as the sleek back SUV drove up.

“Guess it is. It was…nice meeting you, TJ.”

“Don’t lie. I’ll see you around,” TJ spat, temper rising unpredictably from its hiding place as he stalked to the car, slamming the door behind him as he ordered his driver to take him home. “No, wait,” he paused, “take me to Shadow. I can join a much better party.”

As he drove away, cheers of ‘happy new year!’ erupted from inside. When he looked around, Steve was still standing there.


	3. if i could save time in a bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'If I Could Save Time In A Bottle' by IMISSYOUSOMUCH

**Sunday, 3rd March 2013**

Time became subjectively longer as TJ rocked back and forth, the bottoms of his bare feet slamming against the crooked tarmac. The grass behind him rustled loudly as the night flies buzzed with irritating vigour. A cacophony of sound exploded around him all at once. Lights, too bright, blinded him. They came and went, over and over and over and over. The car rolled by, leaving only rumbling in its wake. TJ winced, pulling his body closer to his chest, his whole world spinning around him. He swayed dangerously, catching himself on a fumbling hand, ignoring the way the small - yet ever sharp - rocks dug into his unsuspecting hands: they’d been digging into his bare feet already anyway. After rubbing them against each other frantically, he stuffed them deep into his pockets and bundled himself together to fight the cold, compacting himself into a little box of crumbling self-esteem, crippling heartache and a myriad of drugs.

Another bullet of light blinded him but rolled by quicker - drunk driver, he recognised. Maybe it wouldn’t be so dangerous to try. His car was only a few blocks down, trashed and scraped. But, if he was going to get pulled over, he’d rather his stash didn’t get confiscated. Not worth the hassle.

Not worth his mother knowing again.

The blur of tears choked his eyes as red flushed his skin. Whilst his body battled the cold, his face battled the heat, painful hiccups exploding from him like life-threatening coughs. He tried to hold it in, tried to hide it behind the layers of protection he’d built up but everything was crumbling (it always crumbled) and it was all flooding out: the pain, the grief, the _regret_.

‘Fuck Senators!’ wasn’t an uncommon thought but the way it rolled through his head now, as bright as the headlights in his tired eyes, it was a dangerous one. A volatile one. He wanted to shout it to the heavens (and maybe find redemption on the way) but his whole body was shutting down. He knew if his lips were to part, the floodgate would open and the tears would stream.

“Fuck you,” he hissed, using any last remnants of his willpower to force it out, hoping that the soul of that _fucking_ Senator would hear it in its denial. “Fuck you!” He screamed, ignoring the flash of a light turning on further down the block, as his fist hit the pavement. The woman inside looked out at him with pity. Pity; he didn’t want fucking _pity_. Fuck pity! Fuck all of them! Fuck that Senator douchebag! (Though hopefully not literally this time). Fuck his fucking mother for fucking putting him in this situation! Fuck his _dad_ for ever getting him _close_ to this situation! Fuck _life_ for being so fucking fucked up and leading this shit-storm that he was stuck in.

At this point, his brain had gone to shit. Feelings and rational blurred into one big lump of incoherence. Tears streamed, the gates wide open. The whole world spun on its axis; his body disassociated until he was forced to just stare into the middle distance with vacant eyes and a vacant heart. The whole street exploded into light again and faded into the distance, like the light at the end of the tunnel that constantly threatened him but never quite took him (he wished it would). No matter what he wanted, or needed, it would never take him.

Fuck death.

Fuck life.

Fuck everything in between.

And that was the perpetual loop, wasn’t it? Don’t want to live, too scared to die, too scared to strip himself of the things that make life that little bit worth living. What’s it worth even thinking about?

*

Steven Grant Rogers, or rather Captain America, was a symbol of something almost entirely untouchable, in the way that no one could quite define what it was. They used to say he represented America, then the American way, then the morals of America, then the government, and then the American way again (or so he’d seen from the things he’d read; ends up, his image lasted far longer than he had). It was all a little fuzzy, even to Steve himself. What morals, what way, was never really explained. Steve did not know the country he stood up for; he knew a distant place, one with such a similar framework that he almost couldn’t distinguish the two, but it wasn’t this country. No, this was something else entirely. The future and the past were nothing more than two fuzzy pictures, the differences only coming to light when you put them side by side. Memory, inherently, was unreliable, even for someone such as Steven Grant Rogers, with eidetic memory on his side. It was plagued by bias and experience. It was no different for Steve, who couldn’t seem to quite fit the picture in his head to the pages of history he poured over.

Memory, even perfect, was tainted and lost.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t remember the last 24 hours. He saw flashes; bustling Senators flying back and forth; a woman with a clipboard scribbling down every breath he took; President Ellis and Elaine Barrish, the Secretary of State, staring him down like _he_ was the reason that Thor was in London, battling aliens.

Okay, maybe it was all much clearer than he thought; maybe, memory wasn’t a problem at all for him. But that covered minutes, not hours. He could remember waiting…a lot of that. It was all hazy now. He was exhausted, bone-deep and jilting.

He stumbled down in the darkness, trying to sift through his thoughts, trying to gain some sense of coherence. Steve Rogers was allowed to be tired - Captain America was not.

The street lights flickered like an omen, paving a way for him whilst disallowing him the choice of a path, left to follow the ambiguous streets until he found something familiar. Maybe that’s what he wanted. He didn’t really want to go home, never mind the fact that that was in New York; there was something too cold about that place, something that unsettled him in his darkest times. Not that he wanted to go to his hotel room either: unnaturally expensive and useless. Although, that hadn’t stopped him from holing up there when he could.

He heard the howling before he saw the man; heard the vicious swearing before he could detect a silhouette. It didn’t take long, though (even without quickening his pace) for the formation of a hunched man to configure. He was trembling, curled up into a turtle-like ball, rocking back and forth like the man had just escaped a mental asylum. Steve had not felt the urge to help just a single person before in so long. But it felt…familiar (the protection of those down on their luck, those put below the rest, those who were just too weak, mentally or physically, to fight back).

“Hello?” Steve tried, just to see if the man would look up. And he did: that simple. Except nothing is ever simple, especially for Steve Rogers. The man, the one so frail, the one too weak to fight back was…

Bucky Barnes. The man that Steve had grown up with. With the same look on his face as the time Bucky got his heartbroken by a girl he’d been peddling around for a year. This was a broken Bucky Barnes: entirely, heart-wrenchingly broken (little did he know…

_Bucky patiently waited in his cryogenic chamber, broken beyond all repair. Broken beyond the fractured glint in his eyes. The glint in his eyes wasn’t fractured, it was gone._)

But behind the broken facade was an anger that Steve knew too well, the temper that came about when people thought you were weak, the temper that welled up when you had something to prove: something that said you were more than you looked.

“Bucky?” Steve whispered, the words in his mouth like faded memories and poisonous thoughts. “Is that you?” The man locked onto Steve’s eyes, fury beginning to flame behind the blood red. “No. Oh fuck, not this again. Thought we’d moved past this.” Steve ignored him, staring intently into the deep ruby red of his eyes and winced. The dilated pupil, the rings of red, the absolute slouch of his eyelids: high, or drunk, or both, Steve wasn’t sure. “Oh my god, Bucky, what happened. How are you…how…”

TJ stared up at Steve, his whole world misaligned, the blurry shape of the man showing little more than rippling muscles and a flash of worry in his ice blue eyes, but with a voice so identifiable that he couldn’t even try to misconstrue the situation: whilst the details seemed clear, the picture was blurry, like a focus on a camera that worked a little too well.

But Bucky, that name was familiar-

> _James Buchanan Barnes,_
> 
> _Captain Rogers’ best friend,_
> 
> _The only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country._
> 
> _Nicknames: Bucky._

Fuck.

“No, no-“ TJ started, trying to fight through the fog of his mind, fighting to let the words tumble out of his mouth. “I’m not- for fuck sake, I’m not him, Steve-“

“How are you-“

“You’re not listening!” TJ screamed louder, shocking Captain America (_oh my god_) into silence. He took in a deep breath, shutting his eyes and collecting himself, pushing out the blur of thoughts and focusing on the present (he wasn’t very good at that. TJ was a master at tangling himself in the past. A high was the only thing that usually dragged him back to the future). “I’m…I’m not Bucky Barnes, Steve. We’ve been through this before. It’s TJ…I’m…it’s just…I’m just TJ,” he slurred, shaking his head to clear his thoughts (it only served to throw his world further off kilter).

Steve stared at the boy and…

OH FUCK!

> _TJ Hammond,_
> 
> _Elaine Barrish’s son,_
> 
> _You met him at the New Years party three months ago._

“TJ? Oh fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…Oh god, I think I’m going crazy. It’s just every time I see you-“

“I know. I looked him up; even I can hardly tell the difference. It’s okay,” TJ sighed, folding in on himself, losing the will to fight. He was just as tired; there was no point in fighting. Another car came and went but this time, Steve’s frame saved him from the blinding light. Ha, there was a metaphor somewhere in there.

“No, it’s not. He’s…he’s dead. You’re not. It’s just been a long day.”

“London?”

“Yeah. How’d you…” TJ raised an eyebrow. “Stupid question. Even if your mother wasn’t Elaine Barrish, you’d have seen the news,” he muttered to himself.

“Yeah, how’s she doing anyway?” TJ tried but the world was starting to spin again; the adrenaline was only going to hold him up for so long.

“Fine, I think. Didn’t have much time to talk to her one on one.” None at all, in fact. “Are you okay?” TJ had ducked his head between his legs, staring down at the grey ground as bile rose in his throat. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered before spewing chunks of his breakfast (he hadn’t eaten since then) onto the tarmac.

“Jesus Christ, TJ. What happened? How much did you drink?”

“Not enough,” he sighed, spitting forcefully. Suddenly, it was like no cars dared go down the road. They were met with silence, the putrid smell of sick and flickering orange lights.

“God, have you got somewhere to go?”

“Don’t wanna go home,” TJ mumbled slowly, not back to that place where heartbreak stained the carpets and the piano’s gentle keys tortured him with their soothing sounds.

Steve went to argue but stopped himself, hadn’t he been thinking just the same thing? Sighing, he took the frown off his face and stood up, holding out a hand. “Look, TJ, I’ve gotta hotel booked. Why don’t you come back with me? We can have some bad hotel coffee and then, when you’re feeling better, you can go home.”

TJ looked up and suddenly, under the moonlight and trash-scented streets, Steve could see the red surrounding TJ’s eyes. God, something must have happened; Steve didn’t have the courage of the whereabouts to ask.

“Nah, it’s fine. You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Don’t think about it. Just come with me. I need the company.”

“Really?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I dunno. Didn’t think Captain ‘Merica liked people like me.”

“Like what?”

TJ stared right into Steve’s soul, his mouth opening to whisper whatever word came to mind: _fuck ups_, _addicts_, _gays_. Instead, he just shut his mouth and followed.

*

TJ sniffed and wiped under his nose, even if the phantom sensation was obviously not real. His eyes darted, like he was going to be able to find a line. Resolutely, he pushed his hand into his pocket and smiled. A safety blanket, he knew, a dangerous one at the that, but a safety blanket nonetheless. He looked down at his bare feet, surprised to find them warm on the sleek off-white tiles of the hotel lobby: underfloor heating was a godsend. Still, he could feel small bits of gravel under his feet which made him wince every time he shifted his weight. His eyes, finally not looking for a fix, focused vacantly on the decor: illustrious, overtly-grand and too expensive even for TJ (they all knew TJ’s trust fund was getting smaller by the day, and it wasn’t getting bigger any time soon; not unless he could get the Dome opened). TJ wondered what the hell Steve was thinking, staying in a place like this.

As if reading his thoughts, Steve turned around. “Sorry about all…this. I didn’t choose it.” TJ nodded silently and followed Steve to the elevators and up to the fourth floor (at least he hadn’t got a penthouse suite or anything). Steve went through the motions and put his bag, filled with mission assets in case of emergencies, down on the dresser before he went to the kettle. “Well, at least they have coffee, instant or not.”

“Yeah…”

Steve frowned and turned. “Are you okay?” He asked softly, if a little uncomfortably. Emotions weren’t his forte. He was…

He’d made the wrong decision with this, hadn’t he? But, he’d just seen TJ out there on the street and he’d seen his face and it was just like the back then, saving each other at every twist and turn.

Oh god, he had to stop thinking about him.

But it was TJ’s face…

“Yeah…fine,” TJ lied, trying to push back the rush of tears that threatened his eyes. Fuck, and he’d thought that the journey here had at least solved that problem.

“I found you screaming, barefoot on the pavement, you’re not _fine_…sorry, that was harsh. But look, you don’t need to lie. If you’re worried I’ll tell someone, don’t be, I won’t. If you just don’t want to say, that’s fine, it’s not my business-“

“I hardly know you,” TJ stated, taking the coffee as it finished brewing. Quickly but efficiently, he dumped four milk pods in and eight sugar packets, gulping it down silently as he watched Steve warily (and who was going to stop him. He was fucking miserable, he was allowed). God, Steve was regretting this whole business rather quickly.

“Sorry,” Steve apologised hastily, sighing as he stared down at the kettle. Slowly, he turned. “I shouldn’t have even brought you here, should I? I’m still getting accustomed to all this. People were a lot more…open back in the day. Forget people are more guarded nowadays,” Steve apologised, fumbling. Steve’s navigation of social interaction was still to plough ahead and ignore the consequences until later but now he seemed to be tripping after every word.

“You’re Captain America, isn’t it your job to be guarded?” TJ curled into himself, clutching the coffee cup like it was a lifeline. Blinking rapidly, he forced himself not to think about this all; god, this was a stupid idea. What had he expected? Did he think Captain America was going to show up like the hero he was and fix all his problems? Of course not, Captain America punched people, he didn’t ever have to save them from _themselves_

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m saying this wrong. People back then were just a lot more…not trusting, not at all, but they talked more. There wasn’t much to do so talking passed the time. It meant that inviting someone over was a lot more common. Neighbours were all much closer. Everyone on the street would have their door open. Anyone could have walked in and they’d get a free drink. The Great Depression or not. It was just that the same was expected in return.” It wasn’t entirely true. There were plenty of guarded people, especially in New York, and _especially_ in the Depression but Steve’s area was lucky and they really had been extremely close. Then again, he’d been ill a lot, it wouldn’t be a surprise if the kind natured smiles were out of pity not kindness.

“Sounds…nice,” TJ sighed wistfully, staring down at his empty cup with disdain. He just needed something to do. Like a line. God, a line sounded good. No, he couldn’t do that. What would his sponsor say? I mean, he wasn’t clean right now, and he didn’t have a sponsor but maybe…maybe it was best that he didn’t tonight. And he certainly couldn’t in front of Steve. Steve was…too good for that kinda thing. TJ shouldn’t have even been here. He was tainting this place. He was tainting an image; he was tainting America. Fuck, hadn’t he always been?

He pushed it down, pushed it all the way fucking down. Now wasn’t the time to slip. This was Captain America, and he was the first son (or was before, or even will be, depending on whether his mum decided to run again). Together they should have been everything that America represented. Instead, they had just placed a druggie next to a superhero.

Testing himself, he tried to summon up some kind of emotion but it already hit. He’d talked himself into a low and he wasn’t getting out of it now. Shit life, worthless human being, _might as well just die then_. He felt like a blank slate. The dreary beige walls and soft carpet did nothing to expel the demons that danced in his mind. He tried to muster interest in Steve, at least, but it felt flat.

“Sorry, I’m talking like a grandpa again, aren’t I? That’s what Tony always says,” Steve winced, staring at TJ’s half-dead eyes. Should have noticed earlier.

“Tony Stark?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. Never met him. Always kinda wanted to.” TJ shrugged. He wasn’t going to now.

“Well, maybe you can,” Steve supplied with a smile, failing to come across as enthusiastic as he’d like. Then and there, he could see he was losing TJ. It was like talking to a wall.

“Yeah…maybe.” No, he wanted to scream, _because I don’t even want to live until tomorrow_. Embarrassment flooded him. He tried to sink lower into the sleek white leather of his seat but there was no escaping this. He should never have agreed to this.

“Do you want to talk about what happened today?” Steve tried, fleetingly attempting to drag TJ’s mind back to the present.

“Not really,” TJ muttered, staring vacantly at the cheap, hotel art.

“Look, you can trust me. I know it sounds weird but I…”

“You what?” TJ spat, suddenly all there, like his mind could muster nothing but fury. Fuck, he was sobering up.

“No, it’s fine. It sounds stupid.” This was such a bad idea.

“Just spit it out,” TJ sighed, leaning backwards and looking up to the ceiling like he was praying to god. Not that he had believed in god since he was fourteen-goddamn-years-old.

“I trust you.” Silence descended and TJ put away the urge to laugh in Steve’s face. _Trust_. How could Steve _trust_ him? He was an unreliable drug addict with a history of breaking promises. But more importantly, why? Why would Steve trust him? They didn’t know each other. They’d met once when TJ was high and Steve thought he was…

Oh. “Because I have the face of your best friend.”

“No, it’s not just-“ TJ was fucking pissed.

“It is, Steve, don’t fucking lie to me. It’s not worth the effort. I have his face, you like that face, so here I am. You’re just like everyone else. Do you ever think that there might be something to me beyond that?!” TJ shouted and…fuck. He wasn’t meant to do that.

“You know, you make a lot of assumptions.”

“I have plenty of life experience to back them up.”

“Then the people around you aren’t very good people to be around.”

TJ huffed a laugh, gritting his teeth. “You can say that again.” Fuck, and now he was thinking about Sean again. He blinked rapidly but he could already feel his tears welling beyond controls. He scrubbed at his eyes dangerously, leaving red blotches on his face but it was better than tears rolling down his face. Not in front of Captain America. He might as well keep a little dignity before he went and offed himself.

Because that was the plan, right?

No, fuck, that wasn’t the plan. TJ couldn’t do that. He had…he had…what? His mother? It’s not like she fucking cared anymore. She had enough dramas of her own to be getting on with. Doug? They hadn’t talked brother to brother in _years_. Bud? No, that man had hated him ever since he’d been caught kissing another boy. Nana…maybe. But TJ was selfish and…Nana simply wasn’t enough.

He didn’t have friends.

His family would rather lie than save his life.

He didn’t even have a fucking job.

“Why can’t I get a read on you?” Steve blurted, interrupting TJ’s spiral.

“Can’t you? People say I’m an easy read. What don’t you know? That I’m a recovering drug addict? Halfway to being an alcoholic? A fuck up in my family’s eyes. A fuck up in the _public’s eyes_.”

“I didn’t know any of that. And I’d like to believe that not all of it’s true,” Steve breathed, eyes wide and innocent. Oh, poor Steve. He would never understand. He would never understand what it was like to be a fuck up.

“Well, maybe you should learn to use the internet then, that will say exactly what you need to hear.”

“Despite what people think, I can use the internet,” Steve argued automatically, sick of people dismissing his birth year as incompetence.

“Well, clearly you’re using it for the wrong things.”

“I’m trying to help, TJ, are you really so entitled that you’re going to stop me?” Steve argued frantically.

“What if I am?” TJ shot back wildly, all but throwing his mug on the table. For all his depression made him regress, he had a limit. “What if I am entitled? What if I really am what I say? What if I’m weak and no good for my family and no good for this dreaded life I’ve created for myself? What if I _want_ to be that way. Would you still try and help me. For all you _care_, Captain, I don’t think you could muster any real care for someone like me. You stand for America should be, I stand for everything that it _shouldn’t_.

“Stop acting! You’re trying to play this…mercurial wreck but I can see what you really are!”

“And what is that?!”

“Someone who’s heart has just been broken. Someone who’s struggling. Someone who’s never heard a good word towards them in their life and is now lashing out at anyone who dares think differently.”

TJ reeled back. Fuck, for the first time he may have actually been caught in his own games. Media, political and fear-mongering training and it had all been stripped down by one man, a little too clever for his own good.

“What do you know?”

“I’ve seen your exact look in the mirror before. You know I used to be small? I was sick all the time. People didn’t think I’d live past childhood, never mind teenagehood, and god forbid adulthood. I know what it’s like to be doubted. And I know what it looks like to look in the mirror and wonder who you really are anymore.”

“You know,” TJ interrupted, deceptively calm, nerves buzzing like insects stinging his body, “I’m used to politicians. I’m used to people never saying what they really mean.”

“Do you not like it? Or do you not believe me?”

“I don’t know,” TJ admitted, keeping his gaze locked on Steve’s, trying to suss this man out. A minute ago, he’d barely been able to get a word out, now he was giving advice like that. Who really was this guy? Because it certainly wasn’t Captain America. This was…this _had to be_ Steve Rogers.

TJ realised too much had time had passed since he last said something. So, swinging both his legs on to the chair and sitting cross-legged, he admitted: “I got dumped today.”

“You got your heart broken,” Steve concluded.

“And a half.”

“Want to talk about it?” Steve asked again, reluctant to push anything: he was treading carefully, avoiding another explosion.

“His name is Sean Reeves, Republican Senator - first mistake, right there. Has a wife, kids, the lot. Said he loved me, though. Six months passed and now I’m here. I think you can fill in the rest.”

“Why did he end it?”

“Don’t play dumb. Claims he’s still straight. But I know what a straight man looks like and it isn’t him.” TJ looked up again. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this,” he admitted, anxiety strumming through him.

“Probably not but-“

“But what?” TJ interrupted, suddenly clear. If there was one thing TJ knew, it was that he always made the wrong decision. And being here: wrong decision. Spilling his guts: wrong decision. Pretending he was level with this man: wrong, decision. He had to get out of here.

Hammond’s were taught from the day that they were born that nothing they said could be the full truth. They talked in half-truths and naked lies. Honesty was something to run away from not revel. And someone who brought out that honesty? Run. Run as fast as you can.

“I don’t know.”

“Articulate, aren’t you?” TJ retorted, aiming for sly but it most likely fell flat.

“I’m-,” Steve admitted, charting the change in mood once again. “I don’t understand this…you.”

“That might just be the point,” TJ put back enigmatically. “I’ll see you around, Captain.”

“TJ, wait-“

“I’m a politician’s son, you really think I was gonna trust you, just because you trust me because of some fantasy reunion with a friend that died seventy years ago? Think again.”

“TJ-“

“Leave me alone, Steve,” TJ spat, slamming the door behind him. Steve just watched, once again, as he was left in the dust. Wondering, fitfully, what the hell had just happened.

*

TJ stumbled all the way home in a pair of slippers he’d found in the lobby on one of the cleaner’s carts. Thank god for fancy hotels. Even then, the fluffy white soles didn’t do much against the stone ridden pavement as he fumbled through the dim-lit streets of DC at night. The club crowd was finally pouring out, making their way home, as drunk as TJ wanted to be. TJ tried to blend in. He didn’t look too different from the tear-stricken girls in too short dresses and running mascara. It took him forty-five minutes to find his house and in all that time, he didn’t think to get his phone out to guide him, which told him just about everything about his state. Steve had gotten them to the hotel in about 20, whilst TJ had still been barefoot.

Sluggishly, TJ made it up the stairs and into his ground floor apartment, staring blankly at the unadorned beige. He wouldn’t have even believed it was his if not for the whisky bottle on the piano and the TV ever set on a news channel. But fuck, he already regretted this. Sean had left at, what, four? He couldn’t remember anything between about four and midnight. What had he done? He’d gone out…he’d…got drunk, that much was evident. He remembered a few guys grabbing his arms, chatting incessantly about who he was and, presumably, the kudos they were going to get by going out clubbing with him. He remembered that much.

He didn’t ever remember Sean saying he was going to do an interview.

But there it was, on the news, a replay from earlier. He said he was going home to his kids…his wife. _Fuck_. TJ snatched the whiskey from the piano and brought it to his stash in the kitchen, chugging a few shots down before he switched to the overly-priced vodka: it was easier on the throat.

He wanted it to hurt. But he was a coward, as always.

But tonight was not the night for cowardice. It was time for the most craven act of bravery known to man. It was time for TJ to end his own life. It _was_ time, wasn’t it? He’d _tried_. He really had. He’d _tried_ to go sober. He’d _tried_ to reconnect with his family. He’d _tried_ to love.

He’d tried to live a life.

And he’d failed.

The Dome wouldn’t have the funding to open. His heart was in pieces. He’d just stormed out of a room that held _Captain goddamn America_. What did that make him worth? What was this drug-ridden boy worth? Because if he had been born into a family in bloody Ohio or something, living hand to mouth, what would people really value him at? Nothing. That was right, absolutely goddamn nothing. His worth was measured in fame. But fame was arbitrary and transient. It lost its glamour and interest quickly. TJ wasn’t even famous anymore, he was _infamous_.

And that was worse, wasn’t it?

You didn’t lose being _infamous_. Infamous was a tarnishing on his reputation like a scar on his skin. Maybe, over decades, it could be forgotten about or faded, but it was there, lurking, waiting to be spotted.

He was never going to live a life if he still had that reputation.

So he’d end it.

For his sake (to whom he hated). For his family’s sake (to whom he was a constant burden). For the public (to whom he riddled with his baggage). For the Captain (to whom he’d pushed away at the exact time he really shouldn’t have).

Chugging at the bottle, he clutched it in his sweaty palms and forced a wretched smile onto his face. As he put each foot in front of the other, he smiled knowing that death was only just around the corner. He didn’t even notice that his feet were taking him to the garage, it was only when he slammed the car door shut that he realised what he had to do. Turning on the engine, he rolled the window down and waited.

Oh, what a slow way to die.

But oh, what a beautifully tragic way it was.


	4. it will come back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'It Will Come Back' by Hozier

**Wednesday, 20th March 2013**

_Breathe, TJ, just fucking breathe_

He’d been out the hospital for, what, a few weeks now? It wasn’t like he should still be like this. But, _of course_ he was like this. What did they expect? For his ‘stunt’ to be resolved by a little family bonding. That meant _jack shit_ in the grand scheme of things. So, how the fuck he wasn’t supposed to punch his mother, he didn’t know.

“TJ, look, I know it’s quite soon but they need me. I can’t keep meeting you every day. I’ll do dinners every weekend, I promise. I’m not letting you go again.” What a load of fucking _bull_. When mum got busy, she was busy. She wasn’t going to meet him in the next year, never mind every _weekend_.

TJ sighed and gritted his teeth, smiling sarcastically at his mum. “Of course. Because you always hold your promises, don’t you?”

“TJ,” Elaine sighed, reaching out.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I’ll see you around, mum,” he spat. He shot up and stormed out the house, leaving his mum sitting at the sleek marble island, a glass of _fucking water_ in her hand. God, TJ wanted a drink.

No, scrap that, he wanted a fucking line. Should have kept some shit on him. No, that would have ended badly. His mum would have found it; she could always sniff him out.

Slamming the door behind him, he panted for breath, clutching his chest wildly. Fuck, not this again. He dug into his pocket and found his phone, scrolling through his contacts to find Londy when he scrolled too far and stared down at…Steve’s contact. Immediately, he began to rush down the street (he was in the mood for a walk anyhow) and stared at it. How…Steve had never put his number in TJ’s phone. That was…

And fuck, he’d already clicked on it. He wanted to know why the hell he had his number.

The chill of March air seeped through his thick winter jacket. He wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed like it had on Monday, despite the forecast. He shivered as the buzzer rang, incessantly beeping in his ear (as if he hadn’t gone through enough torture today).

“Hi, this is Steve Rogers’ voicemail, if you’d like to leave a message please-“

“Fuck sake,” TJ swore and recalled. This man was a nonagenarian, he probably just needed some prompting. TJ redialled.

“Hello?”

“Oh, finally. Why do I have your number in my phone?” TJ wasn’t in the mood for roundabout political speak, he’d had enough of it today.

“TJ?”

“Yes, TJ.” Thank god he didn’t say Bucky this time, TJ would have blown. “Why the hell is your number in my phone.”

“Did…no one tell you about the whole phone thing?”

“What?” What the hell was going on.

“Well, you left your phone in my hotel room so I decided to go back to where I found you because, well, I found out where you live. I mean, my friend found out. She’s a spy,” Steve rambled (god, this is why he’d had Bucky to step in whenever he tried to talk to girls), “and put it through the door but all the lights were off and I got kinda worried, you know,” God, Steve was never this much of a mess with anyone else; the last time he’d felt like this was Peggy: beautiful, charismatic _Peggy_ (God, he missed her. If only he could rewind time, maybe he would…) “and your password was 1234, which, really, you need to change, so I thought, well, if you need help, you should have my number, even if you were angry and then I put it through your door and…yeah.”

TJ waited until the tirade ended to take a breath, staring madly at the ground like it was ready to swallow him up. Fuck, was he hallucinating?

Washington DC buzzed around him, people flew by and hit him, but TJ remained planted in place, trying to thinking of something to say. “TJ?”

“Yes?” He hadn’t even realised he’d left his phone at the hotel. Someone had given it to him at the hospital. His mother had probably picked up; she had a key (she was the one who found him, after all. Thinking about it, he should really make sure no one could get in next time).

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. I just didn’t realise. I thought I’d…dropped it, or something,” he lied. Who in their right mind was going to tell Captain America that they drunk themselves into a stupor and tried to off themselves? Not TJ, that was for sure. Then again, who was to say TJ was in his right mind? Despite a suicide attempt and family abandonment, no one seemed inclined to send him to a therapist. And he certainly wasn’t going to check himself in. He didn’t need someone looking into his head. It was dark enough for just himself. Hammonds didn’t talk: nothing but superfluously small-talk anyway. In TJ’s long list of rules to keep him conforming to the family standard, that was the first.

“Oh…” Steve stopped; TJ didn’t have the mental capabilities, or effort, to fill the silence. After too many seconds passed, too many to be socially acceptable, Steve blurted “do you want to meet for coffee?” TJ was about to interrupt when Steve hastily continued. “I mean, not like a date or anything. No, nothing like that. Just…I want to talk…say sorry.” Fuck that. Steve had nothing to apologise for. This was on TJ.

“Steve, it’s fine.”

“It isn’t. I pushed you to do something you didn’t want to do. I shouldn’t ever have done that.”

“Steve-“

“Please. Just…one coffee.”

“I’m busy.”

“So much so that you can’t get one coffee?”

TJ sighed, waited a moment before capitulating. “Fine. But just one. I’ll text you when and where.”

“Thank you.”

“Say that after we’ve talked.”

**Thursday, 21st March 2013**

TJ breathed in and released it with a heavy sigh. DC poured around him like water lapping at sand. People danced around wildly, flailing as they hurried to work to complete deadlines and incoherent tasks. TJ waited patiently in the hubbub, his foot tapping restlessly against the orderly tiles, watching people fly past in hopes that one would stop at the quaint cafe on the corner and sit opposite him. And that ‘one’ would, hopefully, be Steve Rogers.

TJ smiled and stood when Steve finally appeared, looking harried but coordinated. His too-tight shirt clung to him as the wind battered him whilst the beige - rather plain - trousers fluttered wildly. “TJ,” he greeted, smiling pleasantly, if calmer than the last time they'd met, “it's nice to see you again.” TJ threw back his press-smile and shook Steve's hand before sitting down (so much for making this seem casual).

“So,” he began, “you wanted to talk?” In the cold morning sun, TJ appeared twitchier than usual, like it was exposing his fragility. Steve stared examiningly, carefully ordering his words before he said them. With TJ so close, he was in danger of running his mouth again. “Yes. I thought we ought to.”

“Don't know what you want to say. I don't think there's much to talk about.”

“I think there is.” Silence fell, neither of them quite knowing where to start. TJ opened his mouth but no words poured out. Steve took pity and said, “I pushed you that night. You didn’t need that. So, coffee on me?”

“Steve,” TJ sighed, wanting to argue inherently but stopped himself, thinking it over. “I made my own decisions. I came to your hotel room and I…regretted it. But that’s on me.”

“You were vulnerable.”

“I…I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that,” TJ sighed.

“Thought politicians, even their kids, were supposed to have a way with words?” Steve joked (and maybe hoping the avoid the topic for a bit longer. Despite starting the conversation, he still felt unfairly unprepared for it).

“Eh, that's all prepared. Most people know me for temper tantrums and drama,” TJ replied honestly, glad for the change of topic.

“Well, a lot of people say I'm too boring, I could do with a little bit of drama. As long as it doesn't include fighting aliens again. Still letting that one sink in.”

“You should have seen the White House! It was chaos.”

“You know I had to come face to face with one of those things. They looked...God, odd.” TJ surprised himself by laughing, unable to suppress the smile that spread slowly over his lips.

“Thought you weren't supposed to be scared. You're Captain America.”

“I wasn't scared!” Steve argues, a little too defensively. “They were just a little...demonic. I'm being serious. Odd looking.”

“Don't think I ever actually saw what one looked like.”

“What, too scared?” Steve teased.

“Ugh. Don't throw my words back in my face.” They were swiftly interrupted by a cheerful waitress coming out to scribble down their orders (a _normal_ coffee for TJ and a black coffee for Steve). As soon as the drinks came out, TJ laughed whilst Steve poured sugar packets into his coffee. No milk, though. “Why didn't you just ask for sugar in it?”

“I can do it myself,” Steve argued, the words so easy that TJ just _knew_ it was something Steve said all the time.

“You're picky on exactly how many packets there are, aren't you?”

“Maybe,” Steve admitted, flushing a bright red. Damn his Irish skin.

“You know, you said you ‘didn’t understand me’ but I think you're much harder.”

“Huh?”

“I don't know,” TJ mused, smiling. “It's like I'm sitting across from three different people.”

“And who are they?” Steve asked sincerely, raising an eyebrow (okay, so maybe he was flirting a little but he wasn't going to admit that to himself, never mind you).

“Well, of course, there's Captain America. He's all stoic and business-y and smiles like he's at a press conference. There's Mr 1940s, who's polite but antiquated. And then there's Steve Rogers, who I'm starting to think might be a little more trouble making than his image suggests.”

Steve smirked, leaning back cockily. “That so?”

“Exactly! Right there,” TJ called out, pointing at Steve. “That's Steve Rogers. Right there.” Steve's smile suddenly turned a little morose on the edges. “I guess it is,” he muttered. TJ stared for a moment, unable to deny the pull that magnetised him. Empathy riddled him like a rash, making him itch to inch closer. “This isn't how I expected this to go,” TJ revealed, unable to stop himself. He reeled back (come on, TJ, _rule one_).

“Me neither,” Steve smiled, looking down at this lap shyly, pretending that he didn't feel the pull either.

“The last time we met...it shouldn't have happened like that,” Steve admitted, avoiding an apology.

“No, it shouldn't have.”

“How about we start again? I never saw you on the street and you never ran away from my hotel. I just met you at a party on New Year's Eve and...we became friends?”

TJ smiled and winced when he felt a hot red flush rise up his cheeks. “Yeah, that'd be okay.” TJ could already feel it; he could feel the fall like he’d taken the step into the rabbit hole. He was being pulled into Steve's spiral and he wasn't going to be able to swim out the shimmering waters, he was too busy at watching the light glimmer off it.

Steve felt a vibration in his pocket and sighed. “That's Romanoff. I've gotta go: work.”

TJ’s smile faded but the remnants of it stuck to his lips. “Yeah, cool. Go save the world for terrorists.”

“Will do.” Steve paused as he tucked in his chair (gentleman) and looked at TJ coyly. “Call me?”

“Yeah, sure, Steve.”

Steve couldn't keep the smile off his face, even when Romanoff interrogated about his coffee not-date. TJ was almost the same.

**Monday, 25th March 2013**

“I don’t know,” Steve sighed over the phone, “it just doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“Suck it up, Steve, I don’t know who this girl is but you’ve got to call her. You can’t wait for her to call you.”

“I-“ _asked_, Steve was about to say. He paused. Girl, of course. “Yeah. Maybe,” he finished noncommittally and hung up, ignoring the hesitant “Rogers?” that came through the phone’s speakers and sighed.

Locked in his hotel room, suddenly nothing seemed doable. It was like he was trapped in this prison of a room, unable to muster the energy to leave. He was just…tired. Tired ever since he’d woken up from the nightmare that was the ice, feeling like something cell-deep had been changed. Like his blood had been replaced and he just couldn’t see it. Just a feeling of…something askew. This wasn’t like coming out of the chamber again, this wasn’t getting a new body, this was something completely passive. Steve hated it, when he had the energy to hate it.

He didn’t have the energy to correct Natasha. He didn’t have the energy to overcome his own boundaries in order to correct Natasha. He didn’t have the energy to remember that it was disgusting how he was alive and no one else he’d once known was. He tried not to think about it often.

He needed to move on. He needed to integrate into the future. TJ would be the one to do that. But, he didn’t have the energy to pretend that all this didn’t scare him. He didn’t know TJ; he was a stranger for all intents and purposes. But he had _his_ face. So Steve was stuck. He was stuck staring at the cleft of his chin and subtle blue waves in his eyes and wishing for Bucky to take his place (no! TJ was his own person!). Wishing for those errors to correct themselves like the wrong shade of his hair or the wrong arch of his eyebrow (or maybe he could learn to prefer the new ones).

He couldn’t discount TJ. For all that he looked like Bucky, he was someone else entirely. Someone he couldn’t understand, for sure, but someone else. Steve wanted to find out who that was. So bad. It was like an itch waiting to be scratched; incessant, magnetic and beautiful, so much so that he couldn’t ignore it. He wanted to peel off the layers and see the scared, fragile human that hid behind every exterior.

Steve’s faith had always resided in people. But Steve’s _trust_, that resided in who they _were_.

He picked up the phone.

“Hi, this is Steve Rogers, is this TJ?”

A quiet, subdued chuckle travels over the line. “Yeah, it’s TJ. You know you don’t have to introduce yourself. The phone does that for you.”

“Oh…okay,” Steve mumbled, flushing a deep burgundy. “Um, I was just wondering whether you wanted to meet?” He breathed out, all in one. He didn’t understand what else to say; conversations played out differently on the phone than they did in real life. It just wasn’t the same as before. Just another thing he couldn’t quite touch.

“Oh…when?” TJ asked cautiously, like Steve might just blurt out that he was lying and that he’d never meet TJ again in his life. He was Captain America, after all; what business did he have hanging out with a drug-addicted ex-first son?

“Well, I have a mission on April 1st so I thought that we could do something before then.”

“Like what?” TJ didn’t really know what people did if they didn’t go to a club, a press conference or to go and fuck somebody.

“Well, I’m not sure what people do nowadays but I’ve been meaning to go to the art section of the Smithsonian.” Steve didn’t know why he said it. He hadn’t even really been thinking it. Ever since he’d gotten out of the ice, he hadn’t really had much of an inclination to do anything but punch some terrorists in their smug faces in order to suppress his own burning desire to be done with all of it and become an artist in a quiet province in France (if only his own honour didn’t stand in his way). Steve always allowed the selfish thoughts a moment of recognition before quelling them with practised efficiency.

“Okay. I’m not really one for art, though, so my appreciation might be limited but…don't take this wrong way, does Captain America really have an interest in art?” And wasn’t that the lowest blow? Somehow, over the test of time, Steve Rogers had been lost. Whilst Captain America prevailed, the man behind the mask was buried. Days of finding a sunny spot to sketch in with nothing more than a charcoal snub lost to the memories of the dead…and Steve. Who, frankly, should have been dead too.

Along with the rest of them.

God knows how long he was going to live, though.

“Well, come along and see. Saturday, 11am.”

God, TJ wasn’t going to be up by then.

“Yeah. Sounds good, Steve. I’ll see you then.”

He wasn’t going to admit that, though.

“I’ll see you there,” Steve finished, hanging up, leaving TJ to breathe raggedly through his nose and let out a pained sigh. He hated phone calls, always gave him anxiety. Too formal, too official, too many times where you could speak over each other and fuck the whole conversation up.

Well, it was over at least. Now, all he had to worry about was Saturday.

**Wednesday, 27th March 2013**

Overcast, the clouds gathered loosely in the sky. Frigid cold caught numb toes and shaking hands whilst the sun peered through frail gaps in the sky. Steve looked up with a sigh and wished he’d looked at the weather report; his leather jacket wasn’t much against the cold, his super-soldier skin doing at least all the work. He hunched over, although it wouldn’t do much to make his frame less imposing, and buried his hands in his pockets, fruitlessly wishing he’d brought a scarf.

He waited impatiently on the bench and watched as bundled people trundled through the late winter streets. People rushed through the streets without so much as an eye on Steve Rogers. He was glad for the anonymity, he didn’t want anyone to recognise him like this. Pained, he looked down at his watch. 11:35; more than half an hour late. Gathering his pride in his sunken heart, he prepared to leave, checking his phone one last time. With a miserable sigh, he finally gave in and accepted he’d been stood up, the last of his optimism snuffed out by the thirtieth minute.

Suddenly, a rush of air blew past him and halted. “God, I’m sorry I’m late. I-“ TJ stopped, shrugged and put on a flashy, media-worthy smile. “I had something to do.” It was almost the worst of all the possible excuses he could have given but it only took one crooked smirk to charm Steve back into submission (that was Buck’s smile; the one he’d used to charm his way out of all sorts of messes).

“It’s okay. Let’s just get inside.” I need to warm up, Steve didn’t add. TJ nodded and hastily followed Steve inside (most likely jogging a bit; Steve forgot himself sometimes). “So,” Steve began awkwardly when they were in the entrance, “I had a look at the exhibits. They have one for Latino art, one on ceramics and I think there was a photography section.” Steve had memorised exactly what there was - he had an eidetic memory, of course he had - but he didn’t want to seem to keen (god, what was he doing) and let TJ just vacantly nod. God, Steve had made the wrong decision. Clearly, TJ couldn’t have less of an interest in art. Steve was going to talk his ear off like he always did when he got passionate and he wouldn’t even know it. It would be better to be quiet now; at least then, his first impression could make more of an impact.

Christ, why was he treating this like a date? This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t. _It wasn’t_.

He wouldn’t let it be; he owed someone else that pleasure.

“I’ll buy tickets so don’t worry about any of that.” God, TJ still hadn’t said a word. “I’ll pay for all of it. It’s on me. So…” Was Steve ever going to get his act together? He portrayed Captain America day in and day out and he couldn’t even muster up the confidence to take his new _friend_ out to a museum. Not on a date.

Steve buried away his awkwardness and strode up the counter, realised the sign said free entrance and in an attempt to not seem like a fool (even though he’d just offered to _buy tickets_), asked about tours even though he knew that was the last thing he wanted, just so it would come off as purposeful. He thanked the kind woman at the desk but confirmed that he would look around alone before heading back to TJ. “You ready?” TJ was staring at him; why was TJ staring at him? _Was TJ staring at him?_

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” TJ mumbled and ran off, leaving Steve in the dust, holding two maps and a basketful of nerves. When he came back, no little than a minute later, he seemed in much better spirits. “So,” he urged, smiling “are we gonna go?” Steve, knocked out of his own paralysis, nodded and followed a now-leading TJ through to the first exhibit (‘Our America: The Latino Presence in American Art’, as memorised by Steve Rogers the night before). TJ practically skipped from painting to painting, entranced as the colours swirled and skipped, blues blurring into purples, oranges filling up yellows, reds falling into brows, like ink drops left free in water.

Something was off, Steve just couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

“It’s beautiful,” TJ breathed as he came by to stand next to Steve, who was looking at the captivating colours of Carlos Almaraz’s ‘Night Magic (Blue Jester)’. “It’s like…the colours are dancing.” Steve was inclined to agree, although he couldn’t quite tap into the magic TJ was seeing. TJ continued to natter endlessly, barely pausing for breath, leaving Steve time to look at the painting. It was beautiful but not the Classicism he was used to; he was so proud of the steps America he made in diversity but it didn’t mean that he found it alienating in itself. Steve had been thrust into this time of progress, real progress, and he felt _proud_, but it was just as unfamiliar as the rest. There would have never been an exhibit like this back in his day. Seeing it now, it was just another reminder of what he’d lost.

Throughout the exhibit, he found himself drawn to the political statements of pieces like ‘Sun Mad’ and ‘Lolita Lebron’ than the colourful works like ‘Para Don Pedro’ and ‘No Parking Here Any Time’ (though he was almost certain there was a political message behind the latter, just one that he couldn’t quite grasp) that TJ seemed to stare endlessly at.

“There’s something magical about it,” Steve replied but TJ was already gone, staring delightedly at the next artwork. He didn’t stand next to Steve until they were going to the next exhibit and Steve was surprised by just how much talking TJ seemed to be doing. For someone who had barely said when they’d arrived, right up to the embarrassing encounter at the desk, he sure seemed like he wanted to talk now. Steve could only be glad that it wasn’t _him_ running his mouth; though, he wasn’t sure he liked this much better. “Like, I know I don’t know a lot about art,” TJ continued to ramble on as Steve followed him, “but like I _knew_ that one was good. It’s like when I play a piece and I find the note that I got wrong and it just…fits.”

“You play an instrument?” Steve interrupted before TJ could finish his rambling. It was evident that, although he was enjoying it, TJ didn’t actually know as much about composition as he was trying to pretend (probably because he’d assumed Steve knew nothing about it himself. Not that he’d asked).

“Oh yeah. Classical piano. Have done it for years. I mean, I don’t do it that much anymore. Don’t really have time.” TJ had plenty of time. “But I always enjoyed it. My parents really want me to try to make a career out of it but I know that they’re just pushing for me to do anything. If they could get their way, I’d be mixed up in all that political baloney but we all know that I know jack shit about politics.” Well, apparently he couldn’t even stay on the topic of piano. Steve wanted to interrupt, to ask if something was off, but when he looked at TJ - who just about looked ready to sprint through Wayne Higby’s exhibit - and saw the childish excitement infecting his face, he forced himself to stop. Steve, despite his slight perturbation, didn’t want to wipe that smile off TJ’s face. It was infectious. He didn’t see innocence like that anymore, even if something about it was almost abnormal.

He sure didn’t see any of left on his own face.

And to think TJ was, in Steve’s terms, older than him.

TJ ran off to stare at ‘Pictorial Lake’ whilst Steve quietly strolled to ‘Partly Cloud’, a smaller - probably less impressive - piece, choosing distance over proximity in order to get his thoughts together. Steve wouldn’t say he was mesmerised by it but it was pretty, enough to grab his attention for more than a passing moment. TJ, on the other hand, couldn’t look away. Steve would admit readily that he preferred the former with its large frame and flowing lines but envied the childish adoration that TJ could look at it with. Steve had learnt scepticism and critical thinking whilst TJ was free to just see the beauty of it all. Steve was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He _envied_ it.

But Steve also wanted to be eighteen and at art school again but that wasn’t going to happen, was it?

Steve stepped up behind TJ and stared; he didn’t mean to pry but - maybe it was the years of military service or just his own curiosity (the curiosity that had led him down strange alleyways and into fistfights) - he couldn’t help but fixate on how off-kilter TJ’s whole persona felt. It wasn’t potent but it was there, lingering like the faint smell of a woman’s perfume. Steve examined it but each thread he caught led to nowhere. It was the giddiness that filled TJ, one that Steve couldn’t pinpoint the source of. It wasn't drinking - he wouldn’t have even had the time to get drunk between meeting Steve and entering the museum - but the similarities were striking.

Something had changed when TJ was in that bathroom.

Steve was too scared to enquire. Steve, alone, trapped in an unfamiliar time, did not have a proper friend to speak of. And here was TJ, excitement palpable, and Steve was trying to push him away because of some possible misunderstanding. Steve couldn’t confirm that he was right. His gut told him _something_ but his gut had said a lot of things; his _gut_ had told him to run into fights with men twice his side; his _gut_ had told him that he should spend his last night with Bucky on a doomed double date; his _gut_ had told him Bucky was fine after they’d trailed away from Azzano. Steve knew his gut was often wrong.

Steve never ignored his gut.

The atmosphere remained tense for the rest of the journey, palpable by the time they’d drifted further into the building. After half an hour or so, TJ seemed to calm down but the guarded expression he’d worn at the beginning came down like Tony’s mask and the shields of TJ’s facade barred Steve from asking anything else. Sadness suddenly clung to TJ like a cloud. That childish excitement that Steve had been so suspicious of was like a memory of the distant past. Steve wanted it back.

When Steve had said he didn’t understand TJ, he’d meant it. It had only worsened. Steve couldn’t tell one persona from the others but he knew they were there. He knew that TJ was flickering through personalities like one sifted through the pages of a magazine. But when Steve looked at that face, saw those familiar features, he found himself desperate to find his core.

They pushed through the final few exhibits. Steve tried to muster TJ’s old excitement but the man blamed his sudden mood change on tiredness and a late night. Steve couldn’t contradict him. After all, he’d been late too, the stories seemed to match up; Steve’s suspicions would have to be put aside. Nevertheless, the sudden drop left Steve reeling. The once bright grin had faded into jaded smiles. It was like the energy had seeped out of him. It was sudden, brash and unexpected. Steve wasn’t sure what he was meant to do.

Once they were finally outside, free from the cages of art-filled walls, Steve looked down at his watch. It would be a good time to get lunch. Warily, he looked up to TJ, who’s body knocked dangerously side to side as he shuffled out the doors, and thought that maybe it was for the best that he gave up now.

He decided he’d have lunch alone.

So much for making friends.


	5. be my mistake and let me fix you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'Be My Mistake' by the 1975 and 'Fix You' by Coldplay.
> 
> I apologise for the length of this chapter. And whilst I'm still here, thank you so much for the feedback that has already come in! Whilst I have finished editing this part already, it will be a massive help to future chapters. Hopefully, when this is all done, I can come back to the original chapters and re-edit them too.
> 
> [ALSO! I would be so grateful for a review of this chapter. It's so fricken long and a lot of it was pieced together very weirdly so I'm not sure about the fluidity of it. Thank you :)]
> 
> More random notes too, to finish this off, the names on the text messages are the contact name from the other's phone. They can be important if you want to look really closely at the details. As are the times of the messages.

**Wednesday, 3rd April 2013**

Steve stared disdainfully out of the sullen window, watching as the sun shone relentlessly onto the cold, spring streets. On a dreary April Wednesday like today, the rush was busy but slow as people trudged through the warming streets, though it still wouldn’t reach above the early 50s. Steve watched as people talked and shouted and laughed and screamed with the sort of vacancy he’d learnt as an ill child. Steve didn’t dwell on the emptiness anymore than he dwelled on the raucous family, arguing over their destination. Steve twitched in his chair and reached for the sugary coffee he’d let cool on the table and sipped at the lukewarm mixture with a concoction of disdain and resignation.

It had been a week since the Smithsonian; he hadn’t left his hotel since. He didn’t have anything keeping him here nor anything stopping him from going to New York but somehow, he didn’t possess the energy to turn on his laptop and book plane tickets (despite catching up rather easily on technology, he wasn’t proficient at any of it and typing still took longer than he was proud of). Nor did he have the energy to do anything but get up, shower, change and fall back into the safety net of the small table and chair that resided in the corner of the room. Well, he did a few activities, all indoors, just to prove to himself that it wasn’t as bad as it could be.

He regretted his choice of room. If there was anything to make you feel more out of place, it was staying at the top of the food chain when you were used to being at the bottom. Opulence was not his style. But it did what it had to do and housed him when he couldn’t muster the fight to get out of this cage.

He wanted a fight. None came.

It was ironic. Once he’d fought so hard to follow the other kids into the great big world of Brooklyn (or rather a few blocks of Brooklyn) and now he had the world at his fingertips and he couldn’t muster the effort to get out of his hotel room…

…He still thought about TJ every day. Somehow, he’d let his head run ahead of him and he’d made a friendship before it was even there. And then it hadn’t been, leaving Steve moping in a hotel room, phone glaringly obvious on the table, waiting for him to pick it up. He had TJ’s number, he just needed to call him. Steve knew he couldn’t. Whatever had happened last week, it had been wrong. Nothing outright, just an unsettling feeling that perpetuated through each exhibit. Something Steve was sure that TJ was hiding. But Steve wasn’t going to ask. His one fear was being caged up in this lonely cycle he’d placed himself in. He couldn’t push TJ away.

Except, he already had.

And there is was. Despite the whole ordeal being beyond his control, Steve was blaming himself.

It was a familiar guilt. One he’d felt when Bucky ended up trailing around two girls instead of one. One he’d felt when someone jeered at his weaknesses. One he’d felt when his mother had died. He knew it was irrational but it was like a virus; it took something to clear it out, something he didn’t have.

It was a guilt that was construed from his own feebleness. His own failure. Steve had let TJ down somehow. By not cheering him up? By not talking enough? By not…

He sighed. He needed to stop thinking about it.

But, Steve was nothing if not stubborn. His mind wouldn’t move. His thoughts were stuck on a loop, reeling in front of his eyes like the old war movies, taunting him.

He had always stuck up for the little guy when no one else could. And now that he wasn’t the little guy himself anymore, it seemed he had no one left to stick up for him. No Bucky finding him dates. No Peggy proving his self-worth. No Sarah, his own mother, telling the neighbours to stop staring at her little boy.

TJ would never stand up for him, not really. TJ wasn’t that kind of person. He couldn’t do for Steve what the rest of his friends had once done. But he could do something else. Company. Friendship. Companionship. Laughter.

Steve should call; he couldn’t.

But, Steve didn’t have to call, did he? Texting was big now. He knew that. He didn’t like it much: impersonal, short and not a conduit for an easy conversation. A five-minute conversation could get spread out over hours of back and forth or condensed impersonally into a second. Steve liked neither option. But, it would purpose his needs.

With newfound vigour, Steve swiped up his phone and unlocked it (100904, Bucky’s birthday, Peggy’s, his) and found TJ’s contact. Opening the chat page, he stared and slowly, as if marching towards the hanging rope, he typed out: _I’m not sure what happened last week but I think we should try again._ He regretted it as soon as he hit send, the rash part of him pushing his finger down before the cloud of better judgement could reel him back. Darkness coloured him blue, letting embarrassment flee in way of emptiness. You didn’t have to be embarrassed by your stupidity if you didn’t feel at all.

His gaze fell out of the window again, listening to the clamouring shouts of a group of rambunctious teenagers. But they passed by quickly, as did everyone else. In his state, Steve didn’t have the patience to focus anyway. He liked watching the stream flow, never-ending. If only his phone hadn’t buzzed.

He was tempted for a moment to ignore it but someone (sounding very much like Bucky) told him that once you started a conversation, you had to end it. Numb, he picked up his phone and read the small reply. _Isnt that what we were doing?_.

Steve sighed. This wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

_Something wasn’t right_, Steve typed back, skipping right to the point.

_Uh…okay? if u think something wasnt right then maybe we shouldnt met again_ Then, two seconds later, he added _meet^_

Steve sucked in a breath and before he could think of anything better, he typed out _I think we should_.

*

_Come on steeve. Why r u pushing this. Is this the bucky thing again??_ TJ typed agitatedly, almost an hour later.

_It’s not. I just want to try again._

_WE ALREADY HAVE!_ God, TJ wanted to scream. Why couldn’t he just…

*

_We get on well_, Steve argued

_I know_

_Isn’t that enough?_

_You’re texting cuz I look like him_

_I wouldn’t have kept texting if I didn’t like you because of you._

*

_Sometimes, I don’t feel like Captain America at all. It’s like I’m a fraud._

_I get that. been a long time since I’ve known who TJ Hammond is_

_It’s because people have these expectations of us, isn’t it? It’s like you become what they want rather than what you are_

_Yeah I get that_

*

_I miss her_

_I know you do_

_Sometimes, I don’t know what to do without her_

_I get that too sometimes_

_I don’t want to feel like that anymore_

**Thursday, 4th April 2013**

_Just because it’s from your time, old man, doesn’t mean it’s a classic_, TJ argued vehemently, his fingers like lightning over the keys of his phone.

_But if it’s still known today and enjoyed then it’s classic. Captain America is still known today and people like him therefore: classic._

_If you weren’t speaking in third person_

_which is weird by the way_, TJ added

_I would think you had a bit of an ego_, TJ replied with a huff of laughter. God, how had it come to this? Somehow, an argument had turned into a night-long conversation where they both spilt too much which had then turned into a morning reflection, losing the morose attitude of a midnight spiel to the comedic turn of a new day.

_Maybe I am. After all, I’m a living legend_. If TJ hadn’t talked to this man for nearly 12 hours, he would have believed him.

_You’re an old man_.

_And looking spry_, Steve shot back. TJ huffed another laugh and moved into his living room, falling back onto the plush sofa and smiling as he turned the TV on, watching with detached interest at the latest political game tore apart the government. Talking of politics, he should probably call his mum.

_cough, STEROIDS, cough_

_What?_

_It’s just a thing people do,_ TJ sighed, before firing off another text, _old man_.

_Jerk_

What the actual fuck had just happened?

**Tuesday, 9th April 2013**

It was Peggy’s birthday today…

Steve stared at his phone, his knuckles white as he tried to calm down. He shouldn’t have been so riled up but…well…

Jesus Christ, he shouldn’t have been like this. This was _Peggy_, the woman he loved…had loved. Oh, he didn’t know anymore. That was half the problem, really: this disparity between then and now. And where did she fit? Was she still that woman who’d made him swoon in her red dress? The one that had kissed him the day he’d gone into the ice. Or was she different? Was she so old that she couldn’t stand without an aid? Had she lost her confidence or had she gained more? Did she still have to fight to do what she wanted or was she finally content with where she’d gotten to?

Did she still love him?

The thought made his heart constrict too tight. His stomach felt like it was slowly getting wrenched from his body, the dull pull growing stronger as the time came closer. It was too late to do anything, really. It was her birthday already.

He looked at his phone again. He had her number. But he didn’t think he could. He couldn’t reconnect with a woman now seventy years his elder over a phone call. TJ had taught him a lot about calls but the anxiety still came when they were unanticipated, unexpectedly hard and jarring. It wouldn’t be enough; no matter how odd it sounded, he needed to see her face.

So he booked plane tickets. Which was a bit rash and unexpected but it would mean he got to her by the evening. The plane was at 9am (it was lucky Steve was an early riser…and close to the airport), which meant that after the 7 hour flight and 5 hour time difference, he’d be there at 9pm. Which was far too late, really. And he didn’t know how long it was from London to Winchester but he was going to guess it was short. Hopefully. God, he hoped he didn’t get there tomorrow.

Next challenge was her present (really, this whole last minute plan was a disaster already). It was her birthday, after all, and he had to get her something. But what? He didn’t know her anymore; not really, anyway. He was sure that she would never turn down a gift, she was polite like that, real polite, but he wanted to get something she liked. Something that wasn’t just a knock back to the past.

He thought about giving her the compass but it felt too much like a goodbye, not a thank you. Or like a taunt. After all, it had been on him when he fell. She knew that.

He sighed. This wasn’t going to work, was it? He’d just get her some flowers when he got to London, presuming anywhere was still open. Hopefully his visit would be present enough. It felt conceited to think.

Sitting still for so long was beginning to nag at him. With too much energy in his system, he started to pace the room. He hadn’t slept last night, his anxiety about Peggy leaving him an insomniac, but he didn’t really mind. Even without sleep, his body was buzzing. That had taken some getting used to, once upon a time. And, anyway, if it meant avoiding the nightmares, he’d take it.

He was on his hundredth lap around the room when Tony texted. Steve knew because Tony had changed the ringtone to an obnoxiously loud scream that he knew Steve couldn’t change. Steve had tried, he’d learnt how, but Tony - for some god forsaken reason - was able to remotely control his phone and just kept changing it back. _Sorry Cap. I’m not letting you ride economy. Stark Jet, now, should get you to good old Aunt Peggy all the sooner. 6 hours instead of 7. Because you are doing that right? That’s not just me. Yours truly, Tony_. Tony had a laugh every time he sent Steve a text by signing it off. It had come about when Steve was first adjusting to the whole ‘waking up’ thing. Steve tended to copy what was going on around him, a quick way to integrate when faced with such a short time frame to do so (or so he thought). That imitation included the texting habits of the Avengers. And whilst he still typed in full sentences, courtesy of Tony too, he had quickly learnt that signing off was _not_ something you needed to do.

But back to the point (ignoring the whole, _how the hell does Tony know what I’m planning?_). A jet? His immediate reaction was ‘no, he couldn’t’. Really, it would be too much. It wasn’t necessary and it only shaved an hour off the overall time. But…it left earlier and-

Well, he didn’t want to fly commercial. Steve would never admit it, but he was still deathly afraid of flying. It wasn’t like the rest of his life, the fear didn’t reside in flashbacks and short bursts of fear. It was anxiety that drummed through him when he heard the rumbling of the jet, or the sickness when he felt the plane dip downwards, even if only for a second. The fear was perpetual, never-ending. It wasn’t a flash, he couldn’t just stand tall and pretend he’d never cowered. He had to grit his teeth and bear it. And if he did that on a commercial flight, well…Captain America was known enough to have a few phone cameras on him.

He could already see the headlines.

The fear of looking weak was the final motivation to pack up his stuff and get on his motorcycle. He only had a rucksack, a change of clothes and a few essentials tucked inside. Enough room left so that the flowers wouldn’t crumple when he bought them. Now, he only needed to get there. And not be sick on the way.

*

He stared up at the simple building. It was out of the way, tucked in a corner of England that consisted mostly of winding roads and sheep. Steve had been surprised, and out of place, driving through the narrow roads in a rental car. Every now and then, he felt a spark of inspiration to draw, something familiar that came with new places. Unfortunately, he had places to be and driving in England was a nightmare. Frankly, he didn’t even know if it was legal for him to do. Tony had just given him the car.

He’d bought flowers in a gas station just down the road. Definitely not the best quality but the effort was just about there. They were red roses, just like Peggy had said she once liked. God, Steve didn’t even remember how he knew that. It felt like a lifetime away now, the memories slowly muddling over time. Eidetic memory didn’t seem to be doing him any favours here.

He wondered if that was a real thing at all.

Faced with red bricks, he shut the car door behind him and got his bag out of the boot, slinging it over his shoulder as his eyes gazed over the windows. Quickly and efficiently, he marked the entrances and exits, noting that all the windows had easy exit routes bar one which had a pile of overgrown, rotting flowers enclosing it.

With nothing left to do, he was finally faced with his fears. He took a step forward but it felt like he’d stepped in mud. Anxiety rattled through him. His face was flat, his body tense but still. Yet, inside, it felt like a maelstrom of emotion.

He was going to see Peggy.

He was going to see her.

He was suddenly faced with the impulsiveness of his decision. He hadn’t thought this through. Now that he was looking at the final destination, he realised he wasn’t ready for this at all. Nor was he prepared. It was her birthday. She deserved something special. She didn’t deserve a long-lost love coming with a droopy bouquet of flowers and a dismal smile. She didn’t deserve the awkward small talk that would probably ensue, or the flat conversation that he would pull out from a hat.

But he’d gotten this far. He couldn’t leave now.

His eyes darted to the side as another car pulled up on the gravel, stopping in the spot under the great oak tree that soaked the front law in shadows. If it had been hot, Steve would see the merits of it, but today the sky was thick with cloud and the beginnings of drizzle was starting to pour. The sun was on the horizon, the clock nearing seven, which made Steve wonder who was coming this late.

A woman in her sixties got out first from the driver’s seat, going back and opening the car door for a man about thirty, most likely her son. The pair chatted quietly as an old man got out of the passenger seat, leaning heavily on one leg, a cane in hand. He rounded the car to speak to the woman when Steve saw…

Oh god.

Daniel Sousa. Peggy’s husband. Or, well, that was what the report said. He had been in the 107th with Bucky. He wondered how well Bucky had known him…

That meant the woman must be Peggy’s daughter. Maybe daughter-in-law. The boy was probably her grandson. And, god, the boy was old enough to have children himself. Maybe Peggy had great-grandkids. My god, he thought, _she has such a big family._

The report had stated two children, a boy and a girl. And if they’d had children. And if those children had had children. Just…wow.

More than ever, he wanted to turn around. He shouldn’t have been here. Her family was arriving (or a part of it, anyway), here to celebrate her…well, Steve wasn’t sure, she never did say how old she was. Ninety-something’th anyway. Steve wasn’t in a place to interrupt that. He just knew that he would be a nuisance. They’d want to celebrate and he’d be there, brooding, whilst Peggy got all upset over him. She didn’t deserve that. _They_ didn’t deserve that.

But he’d got here.

It was just plain old serendipity that saved him. A buzz of his phone, a text message and a mission. He had to get on the quinjet now. Or, well, get to the nearest pick up location now. Despite his inclination to complain about the surprise of such a sudden mission, saving the day was saving _his_ day so he wasn’t about to go and complain.

He looked down at the flowers in his hand. “Daniel!” He shouted suddenly, another impulsive act that he didn’t dare dwell on. The man turned, evidently confused, but his eyes lightened when he saw Steve. So, he knew who he was. Steve strode up to the family and handed Daniel the flowers. “Could you give these to her? From me. And tell her happy birthday.” Steve turned around and, quickly as he could, got back in his car.

“Wait!” Daniel shouted, unable to stop him. “Do you not want to come in?”

“Sorry, I’ve just got the call for a mission. Wish I could stay,” he lied politely. Daniel looked like he was about to say something more but Steve had already shut the door behind him, his foot jamming down on the clutch as soon as he could and quickly reversed out of the estate.

He didn’t know when he’d be back.

He didn’t dwell on it. Guilt was an old friend by now, a hand to hold his, a touch that he’d never quite forget. Instead, he drove onwards, finding the nearest extraction point less than a mile away.

**Wednesday, 10th April 2013**

TJ raked a hand through his hair and tried to make it sit still but it seemed intent on a middle parting and TJ was just _not gonna let that happen_. If most people looked bad enough with middle partings, TJ looked worse. His hair was more of a...sticky-upy kinda thing and when it flopped like this, just...ugh. Giving up on it for the time being, TJ puttered around his apartment, stopping to stare at the empty liquor cabinet. Well, at least he wasn't craving booze.

(Didn't mean he wasn’t craving anything else).

He rested his hand on the granite tabletop and sighed, staring disdainfully at his kitchen. He could cook. Probably. Yeah, why not, TJ was in the mood and when TJ was in the ‘the mood’, nothing was gonna stop him. Calmly whistling a tune from his old piano days, he rustled around to find a few pots and pans and got out a few eggs, a packet of spaghetti and bacon to make an easy carbonara: one of the best, though, even if it never tasted as good when he made it himself. As he got set on cracking the eggs, he felt his phone buzz in his jeans. Staring down at the prominent square in his pocket (yes, he was wearing skinny jeans, he looked good in them). He sighed, accepting the fate of his millennial life and washed his hands just to swipe through his phone. He was pleasantly surprised, though, when it wasn't just another news alert. It was Steve. Asking to _call_. Old man. Still, TJ laughed and pressed call, bringing up the phone to his ear and carrying on with the eggs, cracking the last one and rummaging through the drawers for a whisk.

“Heylo,” he called down the phone.

“Hi, TJ, this is Steve-“

TJ barked a laugh. “I know. Caller ID, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve fumbled for a minute before saying “sorry, not used to that. But, um, anyway, look, I have a free evening and I've had a lot of people saying I should catch up on a lot of pop culture and I was wondering whether you wanted to watch a film?” It was all said a little too quickly for Steve to feign nonchalance but TJ didn't comment on it. He stared longingly at the packet of spaghetti and sighed: he didn't want to sacrifice his meal. Wait, no. “How about you come here? I'm already cooking and it's more fun to cook for two.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. “I don't want to intrude.” After last time, he wasn’t even sure this was a good idea. But, goddamn it, he’d fought for this so he wasn’t backing out now.

“Sure. I already said it's more fun to cook for two. Give me...” he looked at the clock, 6:12, “until 7:00?”

“Sounds good, TJ. I'll see you then.”

“You still got my address?” TJ confirmed, feeling like he ought to have been a little more weirded out by those words when he hadn't, ever, given Steve his address.

“Yes. Anything you want me to bring?”

“Not wine,” TJ answered reluctantly. “But anyway, you don't have to bring anything.” TJ already knew he was going to, it's why he'd made sure he didn't bring wine, but it was what he was supposed to say. TJ was good at saying what he was supposed to say (he'd been taught to from a young age): rule number 2, say what they want you to say. A perfect compliment to rule number 1.

TJ smiled all the way through boiling the pasta and cutting up the bacon before frying it in a large pan and drinking up the smell. Fuck, this was his favourite dish. He smiled - surprised by the luck today had thrown at him - and plated up the dishes and just about managed to fix his hair up a little, spurred on by today’s unforeseen high (all natural, surprisingly), before someone was knocking the door. “Coming!” He shouted, fixing one last strand in place before he hurried to the door. “Steve, come on in,” he said with a smile, ushering the broad man inside. Steve, to his benefit, didn’t question the good mood and explored the house from his spot by the door. “Wow,” he breathed. “You’ve got a nice place.”

“Eh,” TJ shrugged, looking around at the blank walls, “still doesn’t quite feel like mine but I’ll put some stuff up at some point. It was a good buy, though. Fits the piano so…”

“You play often?” For a moment, TJ remembered their last disastrous attempt at this conversation but it was probably for the best that both of them forgot the last attempt at going out. If TJ was honest, he wasn’t really sure why they were still trying (well, he knew Steve’s reasons, he just didn’t know why he kept falling for it). TJ knew what he’d done last time and he knew quite clearly that Steve didn’t. He didn’t have the guts to fess up, firmly entrapping himself in his own cage of guilt and self-rejection.

“Not so much anymore,” he admitted, “but I play requests,” he flirted, winking at Steve before leading him into the kitchen. He didn’t regret putting the meal first when Steve’s face lit up at the sight of the pasta dish. “Wow, TJ, this looks professional. You cook a lot?”

“Only when I’m in a good mood.” Which isn’t often, he didn’t add. “But I enjoy it a lot. I mean, this dish is easy, really. I don’t know how to do the complex stuff but I haven’t ever really found the need to.”

“Who taught you?”

“Our chef in the White House. Nice guy; French with one of those funny little curly moustaches. Used to constantly tease him about it. He was a walking stereotype.”

“White House? I thought your mother was Secretary of State?”

“Oh,” TJ wasn’t used to that. Everyone knew him as the first son of a president to come out as gay. That was his first title, above all else. “No, my dad was president. I grew up in the White House.”

Steve looked shocked for a moment but recovered himself quickly. “Wow. I can’t imagine what that was like. When was your dad running?”

“Mid to late 90s. Was more famous for adultery than politics but he wasn’t an awful president.”

“And your mum and him…”

“In the midst of a chaotic divorce. Now, let’s stop talking about my family. I promise you, it’s not a fun story.”

“I’m starting to tell,” Steve retorted lightly, picking up his plate and sitting on one of the island-stools.

“You got any fun family stories? When were you born again, like 1930s?”

“1918.”

“Holy shit,” TJ said around a mouthful of pasta. “That’s like…”

“Ancient?”

“Yeah,” TJ breathed, clueless to how harsh that sounded. Steve didn’t care; people were too careful around him nowadays. Or too harsh. He couldn’t decide. “So your mum was born in…”

“1893.”

“She’s like…Victorian.”

“If she’d lived in England, yeah. I mean, she was Irish but that still don’t really count.” God, why was it whenever he talked about his ma that his language fell back seventy years. “She came o’er here in the early 1900s. Married my dad. He died in 1918, same year I was born. Mustard gas. Ironic really. He died in the First World War. I died in the second. My ma died in ’36. TB. Caught it from the very patients she cured. Apparently, there’s a cure for that nowadays.”

TJ just stared. For all his life, he’d thought he had got the bottom of the pit. Exposed, bullied and fragile, TJ had thought he’d suffered it all. But here was a man whose father had died before he was born, whose mother had died when he was…what? 18? Who had died in the war and been thrown into a new time like it was nothing. Who, on top of all that, was under public scrutiny as much as TJ was, if not more. Guilt buried TJ in his own head. Who was he to complain if-

“TJ?” Steve asked, knocking TJ out of his musings with a worried expression. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…that’s awful.”

Steve smiled softly with a huff. “Guess people would think that but it wasn’t so bad. My ma was amazing up until the day she died. She was a wonder.”

“But now you’re here…she’s not the only one you’ve lost, is she?” TJ, despite all appearances, was a lot more in touch with people than other’s expected. He was selfish at the best of times but that didn’t mean he couldn’t read other people’s emotions; he just tended to ignore them. That was probably worse. But he’d been taught that - it was how politics was played. Rule 3: ignorance is bliss.

“No,” Steve sighed. “Seventy years is a long time.”

“Is there anyone…”

“One. She’s in a care home now. She’s more than 90.”

“Have you visited her?” TJ asked before he stuffed another mouthful of pasta in his mouth to stop him from blurting out anything worse. This conversation was already in a dark place, this wasn’t the time for him to fuck up.

“No. I-“ Steve broke off, looking up at TJ. Something akin to grief filled his eyes. Steve wasn’t one to share; he locked his secrets up and threw away the key. But, looking at TJ’s face, looking at _Bucky’s_ face, it was like he couldn’t hold the words back at all. “I’m scared to see her so old. They say she has memory problems. She might not even remember me. I don’t think I can face that. I…I loved her and now she’s…now she might not remember that.”

TJ’s eyebrows furrowed for a second, processing the information. “I think that’s the catch, though, with you. My grandma, my dad’s mum, she’s dead now, but she had dementia. She always used to think we were people she’d known in early life. It was always kinda funny. She’d always look at me and think I was her brother, Thomas, who I was named after. But you…you _are_ her early life. She probably is getting people mixed up as _you_ so you might just have some luck.”

Steve smiled. “I’d like to think so. But…still, she’s 90, TJ. She’s lived a life.”

“If I was her, I’d want to see you regardless of what I’d done.”

Steve huffed a self-deprecating laugh. “I guess I’m just making excuses. Sorry, this conversation took a turn for the worse.”

“No, don’t worry at all. It’s not every day that someone gets to hear the woes of Captain America.” TJ paused. “Sorry, that sounds like I’m a journalist who wants to sell them to a newspaper.”

“You wouldn’t, I know that. I may not know much about you but I know you’re famous. You understand it.” Thank god for that. If Steve knew anything about TJ, he’d be scuttling away. TJ was a broken boy behind a frail facade; it only took one Google to strip that facade away. Then again, TJ had revealed so much already…

No, it was better to pretend Steve knew nothing. Steve acted like it…

“Yeah. I do.” Silence descending hastily upon them, leaving them to trail up the scraps of their meal. Steve took their plates and fastidiously cleaned them (dishwasher completely ignored). “Where do these go?” TJ, who’d been transfixed by the mere effort, finally scrambled up. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll do that. You’ve done more than enough.”

“You cooked. It’s only fair that I clean up.”

“You’re a guest, Steve, you’re not obligated to do anything.”

“Too late now,” Steve quipped with a shrug. TJ sighed and put the plates in their rightful place before leading Steve to the living room. “Anything you want to watch?”

“Well Natasha recommenced The Silence of the Lambs? Which I think sounds like a farming documentary,” Steve added sarcastically, despite knowing full well what it was.

“Eurgh, horror. Anything better?”

“Um, how about Star Trek?”

“I mean, if you want a dodgy rendition of what’s probably your life now.”

“The Godfather?”

“I could get down with that. I’ll see if I can rent it. Warning, though, from what I remember, it’s _long_. I mean, I think I watched all three in one sitting so maybe I’m wrong.”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t mind. I just want to get through the recommendations I’ve been given.”

“Any reason why?”

Steve sighed. “You’d be surprised by how much you miss. I know about the big things. I know we won the war. I know about the Cold War and JFK and the Cuban Missile Crisis. I even know about the beginnings of pop music. But that’s what went down in history. And what’s most applicable to my job. It’s the small things - the references, the jokes - that fly over my head.”

“You know you don’t have to feel bad about that. I missed plenty of what people call ‘normal’ growing up in the White House. Plenty of older people use technology far less than I’ve already seen you do. It’s just situation. You shouldn’t feel like you’re obligated to do anything.” Steve stared at TJ for a moment, eyes narrowing but a smile playing on his lips. “Thanks, TJ.”

“What for?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, pal.” TJ just shrugged it off with a smile and continued to scroll through the menu until he found the first Godfather film. “You ready?” Steve nodded and made himself comfortable, leaning against the armrest of the sofa as TJ draped himself over the entire goddamn thing, his feet landing in Steve’s lap. Steve just smiled and pulled TJ’s feet into a more comfortable position as the movie started. It wasn’t going to be one of Steve’s favourite but he could see why people valued it. In the end, he and TJ watched all three films. Somewhere, probably between the second and third film, TJ had changed positions and was left leaning on Steve’s shoulder, feet tucked on the other side of Steve’s frame, now half asleep. “TJ,” Steve whispered as the end credits rolled, his eyes still fixed to the screen, surprisingly enraptured (huh, the films must have grown on him, maybe he did get the fuss). He smiled at the small snuffle the man created (_Bucky did that too_) and shook him gently. “Euuuuurgh…” TJ groaned, rolling upwards and blinking lazily. “What time is it?”

Steve squinted at the clock in the almost pitch black. “About two in the morning.”

“Ugh. Fuck,” TJ grunted, falling back onto Steve’s side. “You can stay here if you want. Sleep on the sofa. It’s comfortable.”

“Nah, I’ll be alright. I’ll text you when I get home, Teej.”

“Yeah,” TJ said with a small, almost secretive, smile, “text me.” Steve smiled at the man before whispering, “are you gonna be able to get to your bed?”

“I’ll just sleep here,” TJ mumbled, burying his face into the cushion with a snort. Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the edges of his lips creeping even further up. Upon the realisation that TJ wouldn’t move, Steve took matters in his own hands and gather TJ in his arms and hefted him up, bridal style, and got TJ to direct him to his room. TJ rested his head on Steve’s chest and smiled, guiding with a lazy hand until they reached his room. TJ opened the door for Steve and tried to ignore the longing in his chest when Steve dropped him onto the bed.

“I’ll text,” Steve promised as he left.

“Good,” was all TJ could muster in return.

*

3:12: Steve Rogers

_I’m home. Thanks for a great evening._

13:02: TJ Hammond

_I’m glad you enjoyed it. We should do it again sometime._

**Sunday, 14th April 2013**

14:33: TJ

_Hey you around?_

15:02: Steve Rogers

_Yeah. Quinjet just landed. I have a gap between missions._

15:03: TJ

_All OK? havent heard anything on the news so that must b good_

15:04: Steve Rogers

_Yeah_

15:25: TJ

_You sure you okay…_

15:25: Steve Rogers

_Why wouldn’t I be?_

16:38: TJ

_Its just…_

16:38: _I’m sorry if this is pushing too far but you dont seal okay_

16:39: _^seem_

20:44: Steve Rogers

_I’m fine_

20:57: TJ

_Okay_

21:00:

_Sorry_

**Monday, 15th April 2013**

01:00: Steve

_I’m sorry, I’m not okay_

01:00: Teej

_Youwanna talk bout it?_

01:01: Steve

_Not today_

01:01: Teej

_K. Feel free to talk whenever you want_

01:02: Steve

_Thank you_

01:02: _I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this_

01:03: Teej

_???_

01:03: Steve - insert upside down smiley face (..) -

_Talking about my problems_

01:03: Teej

_Another modal thing?_

01:03

_Modern^_

01:03: Steve (..)

_Maybe_

01:04: Teej

_Don’t push yourself. but yaknow that chats at 1am r the _best_ for spilling feelings_

01:06: Steve (..)

_I’ll keep it in mind_

01:06: Teej

_I gtg. night steve._

01:07: Steve (..)

_Good night._

**Saturday, 20th April 2013**

11:16: Teej :-)

_Steeeeeeeeve_

12:02: Steeb (..)

_What?_

12:03: Teej :-)

_Save me!_

12:03: Steeb (..)

_From what?_

12:04: Teej :-)

_My _family_. There going to kill me!_

12:05: Steeb (..)

_What have they done now?_

_They’re^^_

12:06: Teej :-)

**They’re** _ gonna booorreee me to death. Like what even is politics anyway_

12:07: Steeb (..)

_The activities associated with the governance of a country or area, especially the debate between parties having power._

12:08: Teej :-)

_You just fucking googled that didnt you?_

12:08: Steeb (..)

_Language_

12:09: Teej :-)

_Fuck off, I know you don’t care I heard you scream shit when you stubbed your toe last night, mr I’m from the oldie times and don’t swear_

12:10: Steeb (..)

_I regret that phone call_

12:10: Teej :-)

_No you dont_

12:11: Steeb (..)

_You’re right._

12:55: Teej :-)

_Can you fucking believe! My mum _confiscated_ my phone like a fucking child. Who does that?_

12:57: Steeb (..)

_The Secretary of State_

12:58: Teej :-)

_I’m gonna end you_

12:59: Steeb (..)

_I’d like to see you try_

13:14: Teej :-)

_Your a cheat_

13:14: _Anyway exciting news_

13:15: Steeb (..)

_What?_

13:15: _You’re^_

13:16: Teej :-)

_Fuck off_

13:16: _I’M COMING TO NEW YORK!_

13:18: Steeb (..)

_That’s great, Teej! Will you have time to see me?_

13:19: Teej :-)

_Oc. The first fucking moment my mums not looking i’m running. Politicis is beyond me_

13:30: Steeb (..)

_I feel like I should be condemning you for that_

13:31: Teej :-)

_But you won’t_

13:32: Steeb (..)

_Where’s the fun in that?_

**Wednesday, 24th April 2013**

Steve was surprised by the energy that invigorated him. Since his text thread with TJ had begun (and then, even more importantly, the phone calls), the enervation that had once threatened his existence was swept away. Steve had something to _do_ again. Although it wasn’t perfect and his days had ups and downs, as did his weeks and months, there was something to look forward to. Despite having no propensity for using phone, he found himself staring at it at inopportune moments (he’d got three more uncomfortable interviews from Natasha and even a snide remark from Tony, even with the little they saw each other). TJ made him laugh when no one else could and even over text, a medium that Steve still disliked (although now a little bit less), Steve could imagine the exact face TJ was pulling or the emotion he was trying to convey.

Steve had once been lost in the tide of the future, drowning under the frothing water but TJ was like an arm reaching down and pulling him out of the water: solid, dependable and present. It was Steve’s salvation. He still had missions to do and reports to report for, but now his life didn’t solely comprise of work. He had a (meagre) social life.

With the weather reaching highs of the mid-60s, Steve had basked away the day in the sun, opening his excessively-large window and watching the daylight spread over New York like the smile over his lips. Wind fluttered weakly into his apartment and cooled the light sheen of sweat on his skin. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Even more so than before, Steve smiled, the curve of his lips almost uncontrollable, and checked the message and the time.

Nearly 2pm. TJ checking in. He should get moving.

He tucked his phone back in his pocket and rushed about the apartment until he found his two sets of keys and his wallet and hurried down the stairs. He was going to meet TJ in Bryant Park, but from his place in Brooklyn that was either going to be an inconsiderably long subway journey or a battle with the traffic on his motorcycle. Traffic it was; at least the motorcycle was fun. And he didn’t have to stare at the people unknowingly mock him (everything from clothing to slang seemed to anger him nowadays).

He jumped on his motorbike and shot down the block. Until he reached Manhattan, traffic wasn’t going to bother him so he revelled in the free journey down the bustling streets of the upper west side of Brooklyn. The large train tracks now blocked more streets than Steve could have ever imagined but Steve didn’t find himself minding. Despite thinking the structures were ugly (too metallic and creaking), there was something beautiful about the way the sunlight peered through the gaps like it was desperate for human touch. Steve weaved through the few cars there were and sped up, allowing a smile to slip back into place as the wind rushed past him. It reminded him of the sensation he had when he’d first run, right after having the Serum pumped into his body. It was freeing.

Whizzing down like he was leaving life behind him, Steve found himself in Bryant Park by half-past two, spying TJ surreptitiously sipping a coffee on a bench, hat pulled down over his face. If it wasn’t for Steve’s enhanced vision, he probably wouldn’t have recognised TJ; he had perfected the art of hiding, even if it was only when he wanted to.

Steve hadn’t. Then again, only a specific kind of person recognised him without his uniform (history buffs, super fans or a conspiracy theorists were actually the most common; and kids, oddly enough).

Steve slipped onto the bench beside TJ and smiled, nudging him. “Hey,” he muttered, calmly breaking TJ out of whatever headspace he had lost himself in. “How are you doin’?”

“Steve!” TJ called out a little too loudly, drawing the stares of a few daring New Yorkers (though probably mostly tourists, New Yorkers probably wouldn’t have looked twice). “Hey. It feels like ages since we last actually saw each other!” TJ’s smile was infectious. Steve almost felt torn; where did this TJ fit in with the TJ he’d met that first night at the New Years party; where did this TJ fit in with the one he’d seen at the museum?; where did this TJ fit in with the one he’d seen in the safe haven of his own kitchen? It didn’t feel like an act but it didn’t feel like they were the same person either.

“It does. How’s New York treating you?”

“Eh, the usual. Paps are fucking everywhere but I’m used to that. They’re mostly focused on mum anyway. You might see her. Apparently there’s some Avengers thingy ma bob going on.”

Steve groaned comedically and fell back. “Press conferences with _politicians_. I didn’t sign up for this.”

TJ giggled. “You kinda did.”

“When I let a German scientist stick me in a dangerous looking box and electrocute me, I wasn’t signing up for politics.”

“You were signing yourself up for something stupid.”

“You sound like Bucky,” Steve huffed, staring resolutely at the trees (god, they were beautiful when the sun shone; like stardust falling on a sea of green).

“And good thing. We share a face and apparently we share responsibility for being annoyed at your suicidal tendencies.”

“They’re not _suicidal_.” I know, TJ wanted to say. TJ knew suicidal. And TJ didn’t see it in Steve.

“But they are stupid.”

Steve just smiled and turned to look at TJ, a hint of mischief in his eye. “How do you feel like going on a ride?”

“I’m worried about that transition. Please don’t tell me you’re going to kill me with your suicidal tendencies in a car. God, were you even taught how to drive?”

“Nope. Learnt in Nazi Germany. I’d like to think I’m rather good.”

“Nuh-uh. I am _not_ getting in a car with you.”

“Good, because you’re getting on a motorcycle.” Steve smiled sickeningly sweet and tugged TJ up before he could protest, weaving through the tourists and New Yorkers alike until they found his bike. Steve didn’t have a spare helmet but it wouldn’t matter. TJ could have his; he didn’t actually need it…probably. He held it out to TJ like it was a trophy. “This is a really bad idea,” TJ whispered. But, despite the evident fear on his face, Steve could see the delight that was preemptively pumping through his veins. “I know it is,” Steve whispered back, falsely conspiring. TJ’s fear was broken by a large smile as he threw off his cap, ignorant of the cameras that probably lingered as he stuffed his head in the helmet and tightened it accordingly. Steve waited patiently on the bike before shuffling forward and urging TJ to swing his legs over the back. Hesitantly, but then with more force, TJ wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist (heart pounding in his chest; fuck, he shouldn’t have been affected by the proximity, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t be) and listened to the satisfying rumble of Steve revving the engine before they were off and…fuck.

Steve weaved through the traffic like it wasn’t even there. Buildings blurred past them until it felt like they were at super speed. TJ’s mouth hung agape as he watched the sun glisten off the glass like fractals until he got caught up in the way the rays caught on Steve’s blonde hair like it was sunlight itself. They breezed through empty streets, as soon as they escaped the chaos of Manhattan, and drove like nothing could stop them. They were free. They were unstoppable.

TJ almost didn’t notice they’d stopped until the disappointment weighed down on his chest (but nothing lasts forever). Still, the adrenaline pumped through him like poison coursing through his veins (like a line, he thought, _like a line_). And god, did he love it.

“You alright?” Steve asked, beaming, as he slipped off the bike, looking as graceful as a ballet dancer despite having the build of a heavyweight boxer. “Yeah,” TJ breathed, scrabbling for the words to describe the sensation he’d just felt. He wanted to say it, wanted to say exactly what it felt like (he wanted to compare the rush to the rush that he hid behind, he wanted to compare it to the same thing that could kill him). “That was…amazing.”

“I know,” Steve stated confidently, though with no patronising arrogance.

“Where are we?” TJ asked, squinting at the faint markings in the nearby wall that was supposed to indicate what street they were on. Steve just shrugged. “I’m not sure but let’s explore.”

“You really are not what they make you out to be, Steve Rogers,” TJ sighed, edging onto adoringly (a storm was fucking brewing but it was too late to escape, _he didn’t want to escape_). He followed Steve down the quaint street, wondering how the hell he’d found it in _New York_ of all cities. Sure, TJ knew that there were less industrial or official parts of New York (parts where there wasn’t a tourist in sight) but that didn’t mean he’d ever seen them. The closest he’d got was the family’s second (or was it third? Hell if he knew) house and he didn’t even know where that was, he’d gone to it so little, only that it was in New York.

“Ain’t that the fun of it?” TJ felt something dangerous bloom in his chest but crushed it down as Steve led him into what looked like a village cafe, adorned with swinging flower pots and pastel blue outdoor seating. “You want to sit down out here? I’ll order something.” TJ just nodded, not even bothering to give a preference on drink as he stared at the beautiful stonework of the storefront and the beautiful spiralling letters of ‘Emma’s Cafe’ on the board above the door. Inside, from what he could see, carried on the theme of pastel but was an array of blue, yellow and pink in some loose representation of Spring.

Steve came out little than a few minutes later with a tray in his hands, blushing. “I didn’t know the table number so I just took them myself but I think the woman didn’t mention it because she knows who I am,” he admitted, embarrassed, but glad when he saw the small smile adorn TJ lips.

“You get noticed often?”

“Not really. But enough to be disconcerting.”

“Did you not get that back in the day?”

“I mean, after I turned into…this,” he said, motioning to his unfairly large pectoral muscles, “I did a show. That was when I got the most attention. But that was all contained after the shows. Then again, I was never out in public. They pretty much kept me locked up. So I don’t really know what would have happened. After that, it was, well, a war zone. Got my fair share of adoration but mostly from soldiers. It’s different.” TJ listened raptly, with more concentration than he’d probably mustered since Sean. That man used to make politics interesting, just like Steve could make history sound like something worthy of TJ’s complete attention.

(Stop it, TJ, don’t compare Steve to Sean. Only bad things will come of it).

“It felt right when it was a fellow soldier. Like I was doing something _important_,” Steve continued. “I was a dancing monkey when I was with the USO. I was a _Captain_ when I saved the 107th.”

“Dancing monkey?”

Steve smiled like someone had just found out a secret he’d wanted them to find out. “Inside joke. Sorry.”

“Bucky?”

“No, actually, Peggy.”

“That one that’s still alive?” Steve nodded. “Have you visited yet?”

Steve shook his head and sighed. “I’m not ready yet.” TJ wanted to shake him again, to shout at him to do it whilst he still could because objectively, that seemed like the _obvious_ thing to do. But he didn’t. For many reasons, really. Predominantly that he knew Steve would do something, he knew he would, if he thought it was right. If he wasn’t visiting Peggy, he had his reasons. Secondly, he didn’t want to be a hypocrite. TJ had had many people _actually_ shake him and he still hadn’t listened. Pleas always fell on death ears around him. He knew that; he was aware of that. He didn’t change.

Yet, it still saddened him to his core, his heart aching brokenly inside his chest. Steve so clearly _loved_ Peggy, in the way that anyone loved something lost. There was look in his eye, just a gleam, that told TJ the whole story.

“That’s okay. You’ll get there.” TJ tried, in an attempt to sound wise. It might have worked if it was not coming from TJ’s mouth. Everyone knew that TJ wasn’t _wise_, that was just an impossibility: he was an addict and a drunk and a letdown. The two facts were mutually exclusive. He couldn’t be both.

“I hope so,” Steve sighed, rustling through a small china holder for packets of sugar before dumping a ceremonious amount into the cup with absolute disregard for his health (guess it didn’t really matter if your body was basically stuck as fucking Adonis) and sipping it with far too much delight. “Why so much?” TJ couldn’t help but ask because seriously, ten packets were just overkill.

“Sugar rations. I’m making up for lost time.” It somehow scrounged a laugh out of TJ.

For the next half hour, they sat in companionable silence with smatterings of conversation taking over as topics came to mind. Steve talked more about Peggy (the _young_ Peggy) and TJ talked about Doug and being in the public eye. As usual, they spilled too many secrets and unlike usual, there wasn’t a manic sense of regret that surreptitiously overcame them afterwards. It was, in simple terms, _just nice_. And TJ didn’t get a lot of nice these days, he’d take it whilst he still could.

Although, by the time Steve had led them through the small market they found and back to the motorcycle (and by that time, they were on the wrong side of evening), TJ was exhausted. He couldn’t relish in the trip back as much as he wanted to and he was almost definite that Steve had slowed down for him. A familiar emptiness hit his insides like a bomb, leaving nothing but rubble in its wake. The craving to fill it couldn’t come from a motorcycle anymore. That wasn’t enough. That would never be en-

“Is this you?” TJ almost cried with relief that Steve had remembered his hotel. At this point, he’d probably just crumble if Steve asked for directions. (He was having such a nice time, why did this always have to happen?)

“Yep,” TJ replied, popping the p with a little too much enthusiasm to be real. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Hope so,” Steve answered, taking the helmet of TJ and holding it above his head. “I’ll text you when I get back,” he stated, finally putting the helmet on.

“Hope so,” TJ teased before turning away and walking into the hotel, letting his face fall with each dreaded step. He almost turned back but the rumble of the bike was already fading in the distance. It was too late to turn back now. Traipsing through the luscious decor (sleek beiges and browns, very modern), he finally found his room. Enervated and shaky, TJ slid the card into the slot (on the second attempt) and almost fell through the door.

His breath came hard and fast, his body shaking suddenly. Fuck. He didn’t know it had gotten this bad. It had just been a line here and there. He’d been out of hospital for, god, how long? A while, right? Yeah, a while. Normally, this was the point where his parents shoved him into rehab, any sort of empathy lost with each rotation. But he hadn’t seen them; this whole Steve thing had really distracted him. For once, he had a proper friend. Not a night-club friend, or a party friend, or a fuck-buddy friend. Just a friend.

Yet he was still like this.

He’d gone too far, relied on it a little too much. He’d toed the line between use and addiction but now he’d tripped. He’d lost himself again.

TJ flung himself into the bathroom and found his small stash under the sink. God, he hated himself for this. He hated that such a good day had to be ruined by the tarnished beast of his addiction.

He tried to lie. Tried to tell himself it was okay. He had it under control. It wasn’t an addiction, just a habit. He could stop if he really thought he needed to.

And with that, he lined it up and allowed himself to feel the pleasure of _real_ poison in his veins.

**Tuesday, 30th April 2013**

20:45: Teej :-)

_Loooool Have you seen the news_

20:51: Steeb (..)

_I presume you mean the gossip articles so no_

20:53: Teej :-)

_your missing out. They saw us in new York and their invested reaaaallly invested_

20:53: Steeb (..)

_in what?_

_you’re^_

20:54: Teej :-)

_BREAKING NEWS: GAY PERSON RIDES ON A BIKE WITH CAPTAIN AMERICA. RELATIONSHIP?_

20:55: Steeb (..)

_Are you serious?_

20:55: Teej :-)

_its close enough_

20:56: Steeb (..)

_Fucking hell_

20:57: Teej :-)

_Captain America did a swear!_

20:58: Steeb (..)

_Fuck you_

**Saturday, 4th May 2013**

TJ’s condition was getting worse. It was like the flip had switched. With each passing day, his tremors grew larger. On the plane journey back to Washington, he’d had to do two separate lines just to calm down. By the time he’d gotten home, he had five different dealers lined up to call, organised to come hourly. He didn’t know where to turn. His family thought he was clean (he’d told them, he’d _promised_ them, he was clean already). His friends wouldn’t do anything but give him more blow.

He didn’t have anyone else.

Except…

No. He wasn’t going to tell Captain fucking America that he was a coke addict who could no longer even control his own fucking limbs. It was two o’clock in the morning and he hadn’t slept since Sunday. His window was wide open but it didn’t help the sweat trickling down his back. It was the fucking coke, he fucking knew that, he fucking knew what happened if you did too much coke. He kept falling on his feet, never for longer than half a minute, before waking up disorientated and scared.

He was doing blow to stay awake when all he wanted to do was fall asleep.

His throat burned like someone had stuck hot coals down it (fuck, when was the last time he’d eaten?), his weight had started to shed like his flesh was peeling off. His nose had started bleeding about half an hour ago and still hadn’t stopped.

Stumbling, half delirious, TJ found himself in front of the mirror. He hid his hits in the cabinet behind the mirror, tucked in a bottle for out of date anxiety medication (no one would be surprised if he opened that one up anyway). Staring, he almost couldn’t believe the sight of himself. His skin was stretched gauntly over his thin face, his cheeks sunken more than they ever were before. His pupils had dilated so large that he thought his irises were black. He reached up to open the cupboard but was repulsed by the way his arm jerked, like he wasn’t even in control of it. Scared of what he saw, he reached up again and threw open the cabinet, rifling through until he found the small orange beaker, popping it open and…

Enough for a line. One.

In a fit of wild panic, he rushed to his phone and dialled up the first dealer. “Look, man, you’ve already called me up too many times today. You’re out. Find someone else.” Fuck, _actually fuck_. He’d just been fucking _fired_ by his drug dealer. ShitshitshitshitSHIT! He called up the next, who agreed to be there in 30. But that wasn’t fucking quick enough, that wasn’t…

He only had one line left.

He couldn’t live off that.

He needed…

He needed more.

He tried to line up the last of what he had but his hands were shaking too bad. Scrambling, he tried to save what was on his counter and get it back in the bag but it scattered like dust across the floor.

His eyes, bruised so dark from the lack of sleep that he might as well have been a monster, darted - paranoid - around the large bathroom, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do. He couldn’t wait, it was too long, it was…

“AAAARGH!” He screamed, his fist colliding painfully with the sink. “FUCK YOU! FUCK MY LIFE! I WISH I WAS JUST FUCKING DEAD!” TJ shocked himself into silence. Slowly, with an unsettling calm, he slid down to the floor, tears pooling from his black eyes. He stared down at his hands, grey and wrinkled, and only saw red.

His breath came in heavy pants, his chest heaving viciously up and down. He looked down at his hands again and eyed the razor in the shower. He could, he could…

His phone buzzed loudly on the porcelain tiles and TJ’s immediate thought was _my dealer_. Overcome by desperation, he hit the accept button and held the phone to his ear, unable to suppress the sobs.

“TJ, it’s Steve.” He couldn’t muster his usual retort. “TJ? TJ, are you okay? TJ, are you crying?” More time must have passed than he thought because Steve sounded almost harassed, shouting urgently down the phone.

“I’m sorry,” TJ sobbed suddenly, like it was the only thought that could pass through his head.

“What’s going on, TJ? Are you okay?”

“I deserve to die,” TJ choked out, not even listening to Steve (he was pretending Steve wasn’t even there; it made it easier when he reached for the razor). “I fucking deserve to die.”

“TJ! Whatever you’re about to do, you need to stop right now.” TJ held the razor above his wrist; he was too cowardly to press down. “TJ! Listen to me, you’ve got to listen to me. Whatever you’re about to do, you need to stop.” He didn’t know why he did. Steve shouldn’t have had that power over him. But he did. It wasn’t even a surprise.

“I don’t deserve to stop,” TJ sobbed, chucking the razor at a wall defeatedly.

“But you have?”

“Yes,” TJ hissed, anger bubbling up in lieu of despair.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, I’m fucking listening to you, Steve! Stop acting like I’m a fucking child!” TJ burst out, clutching his phone so tightly that he could crack it. Steve didn’t say anything for a while, just waited TJ’s temper out like a mother would with a toddler. “I’m sorry,” TJ finally whispered, voice hoarse.

“What’s happening? You were…you were fine.”

“I-“ TJ didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He was fine, in a way. He’d been doing lines regularly but not when he was with Steve. He timed them carefully. No one but his ‘party friends’ (TJ didn’t call them that nor were they his actual friends) saw him high. TJ was good like that. He only did it when it was glamorous, like at a club or a house party.

But that was a lie. He didn’t. He’d tripped, he’d fallen, he’d… “I relapsed.”

“Relapsed?”

“I’m a fucking cocaine addict, okay!? I mean, I _was_,” TJ corrected, trying to stay on track of his own lie. “And I relapsed today.” A total fucking lie. He’d never actually stopped but it sounded more glamorous to say he’d broken just once. It was better than telling someone he’d been too weak to even stop in the first place. It was better than telling Steve was a fucking loser he was who kept telling himself that what he did was fine when he knew it fucking wasn’t.

It had helped him lose weight, he’d told himself. It had made him friends, he’d told himself. It had made him happier, he’d told himself. But it was all fucking lies. He’d lost weight, sure, but now he was skeletal. It had made him friends, sure, but not the kind you wanted. It had made him happier but it had made others sadder (and in the long run, it had made him sadder too, hadn’t it?). Because he wasn’t just a user anymore. This wasn’t casual anymore. This addiction, that just made him…well, that just made him depressing, didn’t it? Another loser on the pile.

“Oh my god. Are you okay? How much did you take?” Steve knew nothing about cocaine but he was sure he was going to be able to tell too much from too little (he couldn’t).

“Not much. I just…I just feel bad. I can’t…” What was TJ supposed to say? He’d dug himself into a lie he couldn’t escape. In telling one truth, he’d told a thousand lies and now he couldn’t drag himself out of it. Nothing about his current situation could relate to a relapse. Not the jumping sentences or the jittering limbs. Not the dealer coming to his door. Not the razor on the floor. Not the sunken eyes. Not the sleep deprivation. Not the fucking desperation that he felt to his fucking core.

He wanted to die.

“TJ, calm down. Just listen to my voice. You’ll be fine. It’s just a relapse. You can go clean again. I promise you.” Steve didn’t know what he was talking about; he’d never seen modern substance abuse. He knew about drunks, he knew what happened to them but he hadn’t seen any of them try to go clean either. He knew that people quit smoking now but not many people did that back in his day. Cocaine, fuck, he couldn’t know less. But there was something so clear about the way he said it that made TJ believe him. Steve’s best skill was faking confidence. He had conviction and he followed them and even if he knew nothing about cocaine, he could help TJ get better. He could. “Should I call your mum? If this has happened before then she might-“

“NO!” TJ screamed down the phone. “No, please don’t. She’ll…she’ll hate me.”

“She won’t-“

“YES SHE FUCKING WILL!”

“Okay…okay. I won’t call her. I’ll be the only one to know. Now, what steps do we need to take?”

“Well if I fucking knew that, I’d be doing them, wouldn’t I!?” TJ shouted like Steve was a delinquent. He couldn’t help it: he was sleep deprived, already in withdrawal (FUCK!) and sick as a dog.

“Okay. Well…what’s the first cause of concern?”

TJ paused for a moment, letting himself mull over the buzzing thoughts in his head. “My dealer is on their way.”

“Can you call them and tell them to turn around?”

“But I- I don’t want to-“

“I’ll be here the moment you call me back. I just want you to call them.”

“O…okay. I’ll…I’ll be back.”

“Be careful, TJ.” With shaking hands, TJ cancelled the call and called up his dealer, telling them to go home and leave him in peace (okay, maybe he’d screamed at them) before immediately pressing on Steve’s contact again and holding his phone shakily to his ear.

“Did everything go okay?”

“Yeah,” TJ breathed. “They’re not coming.”

“Do you have any…drugs on you.” Just the word on Steve’s lips felt like an unnatural contortion. It wasn’t right; it just wasn’t. Because Steve, despite the blood he’d spilt, was still innocent. He was a man without a dark side. He was _pure_.

“I have some in the cabinet.”

“What’s the best way to dispose of it.”

“Down the toilet,” TJ answered regrettably, finding that the truth spilt no matter how much he wanted to lie.

“Can you get it for me.” Stumbling like a newborn, TJ pulled himself to his feet and found the small bottle again, rifling out the small packet inside. “I…I have it.”

“Good. Now flush it down the toilet.”

“But-“

“TJ,” Steve repeated sternly, “put it down the toilet.”

“I…I don’t-“

Steve sighed. “Please? For me. Just put it down the toilet.”

“Okay,” TJ breathed and dumped them all into the toilet bowl before he could second guess himself.

“Is it all gone?”

“I- I think so.”

“Good. Now you just gotta breathe, TJ. You don’t need to panic. You just made a mistake.” TJ became hyperaware of his panting, constricting his lungs like a tight vice. “Breathe,” Steve repeated, his voice so powerful that TJ couldn’t help but lose himself under the spell.

Time ticked on and TJ calmed down, his dilated pupils staring gloomily at the un-flushed toilet. Slowly, he shuffled towards the bowl and brought a hand up, pressing it down to flush and watching the powder wash away. “I think I’m okay now,” TJ sighed.

“Good. Anything else I can do?”

Silence fell over them when it hit TJ, hard like a bullet, cracking open his heart and letting it bleed on the floor. “Oh shit. Did you call because of another nightmare? Fuck! And I’m here-“

“Calm down! It’s fine. It’s passed for me too. And anyway, doing something helps me.”

“But you-“

“It doesn’t matter, TJ, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine! You’ve told me so little about them but I know how bad they are and you’re here having to deal with me being a fucking idiot-“

“Shut up, Teej, don’t say that about yourself.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

“Seems like we’re at a stalemate.”

Steve sighed. “I guess we are.”

** Monday, 6th May 2013 **

01:01: Steeb (..)

_Are you awake?_

01:02: Teej :-)

_Unfortunately_

01:03:

_Are you okay?_

01:04: Steeb (..)

_Can we call?_

01:05: Teej :-)

_I wish. my mums next door and in assuming this is private_

01:05: Steeb (..)

_Yeah, maybe now’s not the best time_

01:06: Teej :-)

_U can type whatver you want_

01:07: Steeb (..)

_It’s fine. We’ll talk tomorrow. I should sleep anyway; I just got back from a mission_

01:07: Teej :-)

_Is that…??_

01:08: Steeb (..)

_You’ll probably see it on the news in the morning. It’s fine. I’m going to sleep now_

01:09: Teej :-)

_Im sorry I cant help_

01:10: _I wanna_

01:12: _you asleep?_

**Wednesday, 8th May 2013**

Steve smiled and muttered under his breath. He was almost certain this was a bad idea; no, he _was_ certain. But the adrenaline, the happiness pumping around his body like it hadn’t since 1943, urged him forwards. His scattered memories of this place almost betrayed him. He could see TJ on the pavement, or the phone going through the letterbox, hearing it thud against the mat he’d hoped was there. Or just the sun on his back as TJ had opened the door the first time, smiling. He took another step forward. He felt like taking another one back. The closer he got, the more torn he felt between staying and leaving. His excitement was palpable, but so were his nerves.

But, no. This was Steve. And if there was anything Steve didn’t do it was back down from a fight. Like it was a mission, he strode up to the door and knocked, waiting impatiently for the sound of footsteps.

Almost like he was expecting a murderer, TJ opened his front door and stared blankly at the sight in front of him. “Surprise?” Steve called out, gym bag hanging at his side.

“Steve!” TJ shouted, though his throat seemed a little worse for wear (in fact, overall, he looked dreadful). “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here! And I’m not…shit, I’m not ready. I-“

“If you want me to come back later-“

“No! No! Come in, come in. Please.”

“Thanks,” Steve said with a wan smile, both ludicrously excited to speak to TJ in person again whilst dreading his own guilt that would inevitably be dredged up. A surprise was a bad idea. It was rude to just interrupt his life like this but…

But he’d thought TJ would like it.

TJ shut the door behind them, mouth still open in shock but like a silent disease, the corners of his lips started to turn upwards. “I can’t believe you’re here,” TJ started, turning around. “And I mean, it’s great. What brings you to DC?”

“Mission. Well, there was supposed to be a mission. Apparently, _Captain America_,” Steve drawled “only needs to be used on the important missions, though. So I was barred.” Bitterness spread through his voice but couldn’t pierce the veil of excitement that still lingered, leading to what probably sounded like sarcasm.

“Well, you’re a public figure.” If anyone else had said it, Steve probably would have had the urge to punch them in the teeth (_patronising, just a fucking monkey again, he just needs to be useful_) but when TJ said stuff like that, Steve just wanted to hug him, so tight that he wouldn’t hear the pain that laced his voice like poison. TJ said it because he hated it just as much as Steve did; he knew what it was like and he knew it was hellishly awful.

“Sorry,” Steve apologised weakly, “I know it bores you when I talk about this kind of stuff.”

“It doesn’t make me bored, Steve. You know I just don’t like hearing about them treating you like this.” TJ’s eyes caught Steve’s and a flush bloomed on his cheeks. He was used to saying these kinds of things over text, or even on call, but when Steve was there, looking at him like that…(TJ couldn’t deny it anymore. The pull was as strong as that first night at the gala. But now, there was something else laced in; something he couldn’t ignore).

“I know. Anyway, how are you? You look…”

“Awful?”

“I was going to say ill.”

TJ sighed dramatically and fell down onto the sofa with a huff. “I am.” He wasn’t, he was feeling the effects of cocaine withdrawal (fortunately, not particularly physical but still, when your head’s fucked up, the body goes too) but he wasn’t going to tell Steve that.

Even if he was doing it for Steve.

And my god, he was only doing it for Steve. The urge was almost killing him; it taunted him day and night, unravelling him bare before squeezing him in a chokehold. TJ could barely control himself but every time he picked up his phone to make that dreaded call, he thought of Steve, thought of the order to flush the bags down the toilet, thought of the broken please that had come before it. He thought of it and suddenly his phone was too dirty to touch.

Steve would push him through this; he knew he would. Steve would be his medium for getting sober. Steve was strong: in all ways, not just physical. Steve would act as his rock as TJ desperately tried to crawl to shore.

“It’s shit,” TJ added. “I feel like I can’t move.”

“And I’m making you host.”

“And I’m not kicking you out. You know I would if I didn’t want you here.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Okay, fine, I do know that. So, good surprise?”

“Fucking great surprise.” TJ smiled and silently picked up the remote, turning on the first channel he came across which was running an old episode of a TV show that already had 15 seasons, before leaning on Steve’s shoulders and wallowing in self-pity. Steve chuckled and wrapped an arm around TJ’s shoulders (he’d done it with Bucky so it wasn’t like it was _romantic_ or anything), watching with unveiled confusion as one of the doctors resuscitated a patient. “That’s not how…”

“Shush. TV’s inaccurate.”

“Isn’t that true. Watched a drama that was supposed to be about the 30s; never seen something worse in my life. It was even based in Brooklyn, really close to where I grew up.”

“Now I’m curious. What’s it called?”

“Brooklyn. They really weren’t that original.”

“I’m so watching this.”

“Everything on that show is a lie.”

“Call up the producers.”

“You think I haven’t?” TJ couldn’t help it, he cracked up. He clutches his stomach as he rolled through the laughter before slinging himself over Steve again, head now in his lap. “That would be exactly the sort of thing you’d do.”

“Be glad I haven’t. I would go off on one.”

“I’m sure you would.” Silence fell again and they focused back on the TV as Steve muttered half-arsedly at the plot holes and medical inaccuracies: he was by no means a medical expert but he knew triage and that was enough to know that this was _not_ what happened. Somewhere around the time the second episode started, and Steve’s stomach first rumbled, TJ’s phone started to buzz loudly. As soon as he saw his mum’s name on the screen, he was tempted to turn tail and run. He really didn’t want to pick up right now, especially not in front of Steve. But, knowing she wouldn’t stop calling if she wanted to get a hold of him, and seeing the expectant look on Steve’s face, he held back a sigh and picked up the phone.

“Hey, mum.”

“TJ! You picked up!” Way to sound surprised mum. He sent a craven look towards Steve. “How are you?”

“Good, mum.”

“You’ve stayed…”

“Yes, mum, I’m fine. No coke. No alcohol. All good.” So maybe _one_ of those was a lie but he wasn’t _binging_ so it was fine.

“Thank god. You know we were worried about you-“

“Just cut to the chase.”

He opted to ignore the heaving sigh on the other end of the line. “As you wish. I’ve opted to go to a charity gala and they’ve asked if I could bring the family so I was hoping you’d come along.”

“You want me on one of your publicity stunts?”

“TJ, it’s not-“

“Yes, it is. But it’s fine. I’ll show. When is it?”

“11th, begins at 7.” TJ looked up quickly before mouthing ‘you still here?’ at Steve. Slowly, focusing on TJ’s lips and slipping into a small second of contemplation, Steve nodded his assent. He was supposed to go back to New York on the 10th but really, what was drawing him there? There was nothing there apart from a vacant apartment and his own loneliness. If any jobs came through, that wasn’t for all the Avengers at least, he’d be in the right city anyway.

“Can I bring plus ones?”

“Who? _Captain America_,” she teased (clearly, she’d seen the articles too).

“What if it is?”

“Are you two…”

“No, ma! We’re just friends. God. Just because I’m gay.”

“You two looked…”

“You read those articles, didn’t you?”

“You know I like to make sure they’re not saying anything…distasteful about you.”

“Glad to know you enjoy prying into my private life. I’ll see you at the gala, mum, with a plus one.”

“Ok. Stay safe!”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye.” Steve watched the conversation with both awe and distaste. He couldn’t quite pinpoint whether it was a ‘modern culture’ thing again or just TJ but it was fascinating. If he’d talked to his mother like that…dear god, he would have been spanked. And if _Bucky_ had talked to _his_ mother like that, he would have been kicked out the damn house.

It was hard with TJ to find the line between his cultural placement and personality. Steve had heard enough about TJ’s family to hold a small grudge against them but he’d also heard the loose and vague arguments TJ pulled, to the extent that Steve would give them a fair chance if he met them. Out of work, that was.

“So you in?” TJ asked him, knocking him out of his reverie.

“Haven’t got anything else to do.”

“Good because we need to get shopping. I want to get a suit. A good one. I can’t look like those damn Republican senators,” (but Sean had always looked so good in a suit) “thank god the one good gay gene I got was fashion.” Steve laughed and rolled his eyes at TJ’s antics but agreed freely and let TJ’s head fall back onto his shoulder as they turned their attention back to the TV.

** Saturday, 11th May 2013 **

Steve watched the onslaught of people with a careful eye. The lights caught eyes like crystals as people threaded themselves through the hall, sweaty hands placed on gracious backs. Though, Steve noted with forced detachment, there was at least one hand on a muscled back. The podium was the focus of the ballroom, with at least three spotlights shining relentlessly on the plain wooden lectern, where the stool behind it remained tucked underneath. Steve wished someone would just get on with it already.

Surreptitiously wiping his clammy hands on his suit (courtesy of TJ), Steve turned around, vacating himself from the noise and clamour of the event. “There are a lot of cameras here, Teej.”

“Pfft,” TJ dismissed, looking halfway to hell himself, “they just a want a piece of this.”

“With the speculation going around…”

“They can think what they want to think. They’ve seen us together…what? Once? Twice?”

“This is the gossip rags we’re talking about. They don’t even need one to make speculation,” Steve pointed out.

“So, let them speculate. Let’s just have fun.” Steve sighed and turned back to the crowd, avidly avoiding the curious cameras that embossed themselves to the walls. “I’ll try.”

The ‘fun’ didn’t last long, though. Within minutes, TJ’s mum had taken him aside and a foreign diplomat from Iran had taken Steve aside to discuss security (of which Steve actually knew very little about. Despite an avid interest in politics, he had barely scraped through school and was an Art student, meaning he had very little acute knowledge of politics itself. He was a tactician, sure, but that was for specific missions, not the whole goddamn country).

Slowly, the energy drained from Steve’s body, leaving the empty shell that so often showed itself on a man that paraded the streets in a red, white and blue suit. This Steve remained firmly implanted on the non-existent lines of his face. He drifted aimlessly through the crowd, going between politicians and celebrities, answering the same questions; “how’s modern life treating you?”; “can you use the internet?”; “what do _aliens_ look like up close?”. Steve was sick of it but he knew his place, his duty, and just let the smile slowly fade into the serious line of his lips: people wrote it off as the stoicism of a war veteran, he was fine with that.

TJ was in no better predicament. Lost in the shark’s nest of his family, he was pulled aside again and again, unable to even keep track of where Steve was to escape. Doug gave him a talking to about how dead on his feet he looked (and immediately guessed what happened: “rehab, TJ, you need to go into rehab”) whilst his father commented on how he needed to gain some weight whilst his grandma (who’d made the appearance just because she’d wanted to see him, or so she said; it was more likely it was for the free booze and fancy dress) commented on how he needed to lose some. His mother, as postured as always, commented on how lovely he looked and told him to impress the crowd.

TJ did not impress the crowd. In fact, he was surprised that they hadn’t managed to ‘impress’ the crowd with their family antics yet. Having all of them in one place was a _bad_ idea but so far, it hadn’t been a disaster and maybe there was something to say for that. But, at least, with the final push into the crowd, TJ had the chance to find Steve again and make some actual good out of this party. Spotting him across the hall, TJ almost stopped. Steve looked…god, he didn’t even know how to describe it. Like someone had scooped out his insides and left a ghost in his wake. Nothing behind the eyes, nothing to read from his body, his lips. Only the sycophantic smiles he sent as Senators to boost their already inflated egos (for what purpose, TJ wasn’t sure).

He didn’t see any of the man who’d chatted away on the sofa about the inaccuracies of medical drama. Or the man that had vehemently fought for him to not drag that razor over his wrist. Or the man who had smiled awkwardly into his coffee cup as he tried to rebuild one of his only friendships.

Like a burning fire encased by oxygen, TJ finally felt the spark of anger he’d been waiting to feel for years (even if directed in the wrong direction) and stormed up to Steve. “Steve, can we talk?” The man, whatever his name was, that Steve was talking to took one look at them and backed away, looking unimpressed, leaving TJ to tug at Steve’s sleeves and drag him across the hall into the men’s bathrooms that TJ had scoped out beforehand.

“Wha-“

“What the hell is this. I’m not there for half an hour and…and this happened. You’re…”

Steve frowned. “I’m what, TJ?”

“You’re…I don’t know, just…this. What the hell is this?!” TJ shouted, waving frantically at Steve’s body. Fuck, _rule number 1! Rule number fucking one!_

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Steve shouted over him, looming. “You took me out of the party and you don’t even know why? What the hell are you thinking?”

“This! This fucking…I don’t know, okay! But this is wrong. I saw you talking to those people and that…wasn’t you. It was-“

“What?”

“It was…fuck, I don’t know. Captain America or some shit.”

“I _am_ Captain America, unless you forget.”

“I know that but it’s just…” TJ was on the losing foot, poised to flee rather than attack (but when was it ever the other way around). “You don’t look like yourself.”

Steve huffed a laugh and smiled self-deprecatingly down at his feet. “Guess I don’t. But don’t get angry at me. I’ve seen you out there; all smiles and waves. You hate these people.”

TJ gulped. “I don’t hate them.”

“You do.” Steve paused, waiting for TJ’s assent, given in the form of a minute nod. How the hell had they switched places? “So don’t shout at me for putting on an act. We’re in the public eye, you know what we do.”

“I just-“

“Look, TJ,” Steve sighed, “you’re probably the first person in this _millennium_ to see me and not Captain America. You can’t expect others to. People want me to be a soldier or a leader or a politician. Not an art student from Brooklyn who accidentally got himself injected by a German doctor.”

“You’re an art student?”

Steve laughed a little too loudly to be real. “Yeah, I am. Was. You surprised?”

“No. But they would be.”

“Exactly.”

It was only a moment, only one bit of eye contact, but TJ’s hands were suddenly in Steve’s lapels, dragging him down into a heady kiss. Their lips pressed together and TJ just felt…content. He’d finally done it, he’d just put away his doubts and-

Steve pushed off him. “TJ,” he warned.

“What?”

“I…I can’t…I’m not…”

“Gay?” Steve nodded. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not-“

“You think I don’t know what a closeted man looks like? I’ve slept with enough of them.” TJ tried to lean again but Steve pushed him off.

“I’m not-“

“Come on, Steve. I know you grew up in the twenties but this is not the time to shout ‘god hates fags’ at me. Because I know you’re religious and you grew up in a time that-“

“It’s not that-“

“Then what is it, Steve?” Silence descended thickly on the palpable tension.

“I…” Steve paused, mulled it over for a moment, before taking a step back. “I’m just not like that.”

“Oh, come. I know what liking a guy looks like. I don’t care if you’ve never looked at a man that way before but please, come on, please. I know how you look at me-“

“Ok, fine! Is that what you want me to say. Do you want me to admit that I’ve thought about being with men before? Then fine, TJ, I have.” Steve took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Look, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“And would you know where to start with a girl? Steve, you’re still stuck in the 30s. This is modern life. The rules are different anyway. Me being a guy…it won’t change a thing.”

“Won’t it? I’m still a public figure. This is gonna mean a lot of things change.”

“We don’t have to tell people right away. For now, it can just be us.”

“TJ-“ Steve’s fear was masked by a stoic mask. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“You. That’s it. No expectation. Just you.” TJ couldn’t be let down again; he couldn’t be alone anymore. He just wanted something, anything. It would do. It would always do. “I like you, Steve.”

Steve stared for a moment, his lips twisted like he might fight once more. Instead, he put a hand on TJ’s shoulder and looked up to the ceiling like he was reciting a private prayer. Slowly, somehow gracefully, his gaze fell on TJ again. Taking a deep breath, Steve brought his hand higher, until it was cupping TJ’s jaw. The movements were stilted and awkward but sincere enough that TJ really believed it when Steve whispered “I like you too.”

TJ couldn’t find the words to reply.

“So yeah,” Steve breathed, taking that leap of faith without looking back. Because this was Steve, and he wasn’t going to step back from a challenge. “Yeah… I can try…I can…try, yeah,” TJ didn’t hide his smile. Letting it play on his lips, he stepped forward and brought up a hand to Steve’s shoulder and drew him in close, trying to ignore the wisp of disappointment when Steve’s hand fell from his jaw.

“You sure? I don’t want this to end with tonight.”

“I’m…I’m sure,” Steve lied as their lips met again.


	6. every time you're high

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title based of 'Every Time You're High' by Billy Lockett.
> 
> Reviews, once again, would be so, so welcome. This is the end of part 1!!! So, it would be really helpful to hear about the story so far as a whole. It's a bit of a mess now because I'm a bit too far in but I don't know what to do about that XD
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading.

**Monday, 13th May 2013**

Steve woke up with TJ next to him. Nothing had happened, he remembered that much but the gentle breath on his chest was enough to push him backwards, waking TJ in the process. Snuffling, TJ peered up from under fine eyelashes and blinked wearily. “Morning? God, what time is it?”

Almost frozen on the other side of the bed, Steve slowly spun to the alarm clock and squinted. “10.”

TJ groaned. “Still too early. What time did we get back?”

“12, I think.”

“Oh thank god,” TJ huffed, stretching slowly upwards as he let his legs dangle over the side of the bed. “Being sober makes those things so much worse but I have to say, it means you don’t stay as late.”

“You didn’t drink at all?”

“You didn’t see me? You know about my…problem. I’ve been kinda stopping everything.” Well, that was a lie. He still hadn’t stopped drinking, he’d just stopped it in _public_, especially in front of his family; he didn’t want to deal with their patronising empathy and cruel barbs.

“That’s impressive, Teej.” Steve had seen enough drunks in his day, he knew what it did to a person.

“Thanks,” TJ said, smiling down at his lap before he crawled back into bed, looking sultry. “So…” he began, finger trailing down Steve’s chest, “regrets?” Steve gulped, staring down at TJ’s finger, feeling his pulse race under the pressure.

“Not yet,” he replied, gulping, searching for something unknown in TJ’s eyes.

“Good,” TJ smiled. “But I’m gonna guess we’re going to go slow?”

“I mean, I’m already in your bed,” Steve quipped.

“Shut up, old man, I’m trying to be nice here,” TJ retorted, slapping Steve’s arm (much to his own pain).

“Fine, fine. I’ll be _serious_ as you all so love to be nowadays. But yes, slow would be better.”

“It’s not serious, it’s practical. Communicative.”

“But there’s no humour in it! Everyone takes themselves so seriously.”

“You know what you sound like right now?” TJ left enough time to make his statement but not enough for Steve to butt in. “An old man. You know, the one that shakes their fists at the _local youth_ and says that they’re good-for-nothings.”

“Well, someone has to represent my generation,” Steve retorted with a wink.

“You’re just another millennial hater.”

“You’re hardly a millennial.”

“Are you calling me _old_, old man?”

“Maybe I am.”

“Oh, you are such a…” TJ trailed off into a fit of giggles, his arm landing around Steve’s waist, his mouth pressed again his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered once his peals of laughter had faded to mere chortles.

“For what?”

“Being here.”

**Wednesday, 15th May 2013**

09:01: Teej :-)

_Fuck can you just come back already. i misss you <3_

09:32: Steeb <3

_I’ve only just landed_

09:33: Teej :-)

_And it’s been too long and anyway if this is gonna work im so gonna see you more often. in gonna see when I’m next free to go to NY_

10:15: Steeb <3

_There’s no rush_

10:20: Teej :-)

_Tomorrow? 18? 20?_

10:42: Steeb <3

_How about we do the 20th_

10:43: Teej :-)

_Sounsd like a plan!_

10:44: _Cant wait_

11:20: Steeb <3

_Yeah, it’ll be fun_

**Monday, 20th May 2013**

TJ scoured through the airport for a familiar sight, smiling when his eyes caught a flash of blonde hair, blue eyes and permanent muscle. Waving wildly, TJ hurried across the white tiles until he was in front of Steve. His arms itched to hold him but the thought of hidden cameras threw him back; Steve shifted uncomfortably. Watching TJ awkwardly throw his arms down to his sides. Steve led the way to a taxi (glaringly not his motorcycle) and opened the door for TJ. “Gentleman,” TJ teased but he got no reply. Steve stared down at his feet as he sat next to TJ, letting silence ensconce them for the hour-long drive.

TJ hurried out when Steve’s apartment came into view, leaving Steve to pay the taxi driver, feeling like his heart was going to burst, it’s beats coming in rapid, anxious bursts. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he stared at the brownstone building as heat permeated the late night air, washing over TJ like a tidal wave, settling his frigid nerves. He was shaking, he realised; he didn’t know how to stop it.

Steve finally came up behind him and unlocked the door, freeing TJ into the hallway, where the fans droned lowly. Crippled wallpaper clung to the walls and the stairs were as mucky as ever but it was no surprise when Steve opened his door and revealed the perfectly clean and tidy space he lived in. Devoid of any personal belongings, the house was like a show home. If TJ had thought his apartment was devoid of life, Steve’s was Death itself. He still liked it, though: the sleek lines and beige tones. It relaxed him, even if he thought he could never live in a space like this.

Steve remained silent and TJ’s already frayed nerves buzzed like stubborn insects. Life seemed at a standstill, their wills at an impasse as to who was going to speak first. Of course, TJ spoke up first (_weak_). “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Steve replied falsely, “why wouldn’t I be?” TJ stared at him for a while, settled in the silence he was becoming accustomed to. He inspected Steve’s posture, the way his eyes settled steadfastly on the floor, the way he always seemed to be turned slightly away from TJ, like it might just protect him from TJ’s touch. “You’re regretting this,” TJ realised.

“If I regretted this, I would say.”

“Then what is it? Because you haven’t shed a single smile since I got here,” TJ shot back irascibly, temper like a live wire.

“It’s not you. I’m just…” Steve trailed off.

“So it is me?” TJ inferred. “Because if you don’t give me any other reason, that’s all I’ve got to believe. Fuck!” TJ swore, turning away. “You said you wouldn’t…ha! I’m fucking kidding myself again. Of course this was never going to work. No one could fucking have the heart to look at me and think, hell, maybe that’s the kind of guy I want. No one in their right mind would see a loser and go, yeah, I like him.”

“TJ,” Steve cut off, rushing over to TJ like someone had pulled a rope tied around his waist. “Don’t say that.”

“But isn’t it true? Have you looked me up on Google? I bet you have. It’s always the same…”

“No, TJ. I know you don’t want me to so I haven’t. And I told you not to read into my past and you haven’t, right?”

“Of course not. You asked.”

“Exactly. This isn’t about you, TJ. I’m sorry that I led you to believe that. This is about more than that.”

“You still regret this, though.”

“It’s not regret. It’s…” Shame. Steve didn’t want to say it aloud, didn’t want to see how TJ’s face would fall, how the darkness that already trapped TJ would crawl into the cracks of his heart and take over. Steve was never one to shy away from words but TJ…he was delicate and Steve, despite everything, had the incomprehensible urge to protect him.

“What?” TJ breathed, eyes wide (and childish, Steve couldn’t help but think).

“I just need some time to adjust, okay? Is that alright?” I’m not going to break your heart, Steve promised silently. I won’t and I can’t. And to do that, I will get over this shame in my heart and teach myself that this is okay. I will get over the numbness that taints my heart and love you with everything that I have.

Because Steve Rogers couldn’t do anything less.

“Yeah. Just…can we at least act like it was before? I don’t like…this.” Steve nodded easily and cupped TJ’s jaw gently. “It can go back. I just need time, that’s all.” TJ nodded and muttered that he was going to the toilet under his breath, leaving Steve to his own devices, heart pounding as he thought over his decision. Maybe it would have just been best to tell TJ now that it wasn’t going to work. That Steve was incapable of getting his own prejudices because they’d had years to settle and not enough weeks to change.

He couldn’t tell if it was the right decision or not and he hated it. Black and white, that’s how it was for Steve. The world’s stage was made up of nothing more than good and evil. Except for TJ, who stood so firmly in the grey area that Steve couldn’t face it, perpetuating the indecision festering in his chest.

Steve was lost in a sea of grey and he couldn’t see outside of it anymore: he didn’t think he wanted to.

TJ came out of the bathroom, though, with a confident strut and a smile on his face. Steve smiled in return, letting the errant thoughts in his mind be pushed to one side. He’d done something right, at least, if TJ was smiling. TJ walked up to Steve and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Sorry about that. Shouldn’t have got so worked up. We’re fine, right?”

“You’re not the one who should be apologising.”

“Pfft, it’s fine. Let’s just pretend it never happened.” Steve would rather they didn’t. It was an important conversation and one they needed to have but TJ was…TJ was just fragile. Steve didn’t want to push him further than he needed to.

It unsettled him. He was so used to being surrounded by such head-strong characters, most of the time protecting him, that he’d never had the chance to have to look after someone else. He’d had to command others, lead others but he’d never had to care for them, or save his words to save their hearts. They’d taken care of themselves.

Steve didn’t mind. It was time scrawny, little Steve Rogers took care of someone else for a change.

“Okay,” he breathed. TJ gave him a decisive nod and a bigger smile and fluttered around the room, immediately going to the window and watching the world outside, just as Steve often did from the dreary table that he’d stuck beside it. It almost didn’t seem possible when TJ’s smile got wider and he analysed the streets like they’d unlock the secrets of the universe to him.

Steve watched. Something clawed at his gut. That same thing that had clawed at his gut in the museum. The feeling of…something being _off_. The feeling that happened whenever TJ disappeared to the…

…to the bathroom.

Fuck.

Urgently, Steve brought out the phone he didn’t use apart from to text TJ and occasionally the Avengers (he had a separate work phone for missions. He didn’t know why but they said that was how it worked nowadays).

Typing in a quick search on google, one devoid of TJ’s name, he brought up the first website and scrolled through the symptoms of cocaine addiction:

_dilated pupils_

_paranoia_

_wakefulness_

_confidence_

_irritability and mood swings_

_loss of appetite_

_alert_

_happy_

_talkative_

The list went on. Shit, shit, _shit!_. Steve examined TJ, who’d plonked himself on the sofa and set his feet on the coffee table, searching lazily around him for the TV remote. Confidence, that was the first thing Steve noticed; TJ rarely did anything in Steve’s domain without his permission (scared constantly to make the wrong decision or to push Steve towards the wrong side of irritation). Steve thought of everything TJ said, how the rush of emotions had swallowed him so quickly: mood swings, then. The smile on his face: happiness. The way his eyes darted: alertness. Steve carefully walked to the window before sneaking a glance behind him. With his enhanced senses, it only took a momentary glance to see that his pupils had dilated. That was certainly enough symptoms and with a past of drug abuse, it was practically a flashing red light.

Desperate for something to cling onto, hoping to all hell that he was wrong, Steve tried to ask casually “Teej, you hungry?” The man looked up from the now playing TV, smile still on his face. “Nah,” he dismissed distractedly.

“When was the last time you ate?” TJ just looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. Steve almost wanted to sob. God, he was right, wasn’t he? _He was right_.

After minutes had passed and Steve lost interest in his own spiralling thoughts, he turned around and folded his arms. “How long have you been using again?” He covered his face with a mask, his lips downturned but his other features emotionless. You couldn’t get a read on him even if you knew him. This was a perfected veil, one that TJ’s dilated pupils were never going to see behind.

“I haven’t been-“

“Don’t lie to me!” Steve took a deep breath and reigned back his temper. “Just tell me how long.”

TJ stared for a long moment, curling in on himself, feet coming up onto the sofa until he was almost in foetal position. “Wednesday. That was when I…”

“God, not even a week,” Steve gasped, dragging his hand down his face. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? TJ was there, the man he had just vowed to protect, watching him like he might murder him for his sins. Steve wouldn’t do a thing, not to TJ. Already, he cared too much. Because he was Steve Rogers and he latched onto what he could. But he couldn’t accept this either. “Why?” He asked, at a loss, scrambling around his vacant mind for answers. He’d started just after he’d asked Steve out. Was it his fault? When TJ didn’t answer, he powered on. “I thought, with…us…you wanted this. Do you not…do you not want this? Was this because of me?”

“No, it’s not that. This is nothing to do with you.”

“Then what is it?”

“IT’S JUST ME, OKAY?!” TJ screamed, jumping to his feet. “Because I’m a fucked up addict who can’t keep themselves away from it! Because I’m an idiot who feels better high than I ever could sober! Because I’m unable to face my own fucking life because I’d rather it just ENDED!”

Neither of them said a word. TJ panted, catching his breath. Steve watched silently as guilt clawed up his throat and pushed out a ragged sob. No tears, no sadness, just a shocked choke that said everything he needed to.

“Is that really how you feel?” Steve couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine anything but wanting to power through. Even at his lowest (train, falling, a bombed-out bar), he’d never thought _I want to die_. Even when he purposefully nose-dived into the Arctic, he hadn’t wanted to die, he’d just been willing to do so for his country. That was all.

He remembered talking to Peggy on the communications system and thinking that the last thing he wanted to do was die. He wanted a life with her, or at least just a date. Maybe even just one dance…

“It has been,” TJ admitted, broken eyes trailing to the ground.

“Oh god. Teej, you can’t…this can’t be the answer.”

“It’s fine,” TJ argued, “it’s not much. It’s hardly any! I only need a little bit to get through the day.”

“That’s not okay, TJ! I can’t be with an…”

“An addict?” TJ guessed. “See? This is why I said not to google me.”

“No. Don’t put words in my mouth. If I hadn’t wanted to be friends with someone struggling, I would have stopped talking to you when you last…relapsed. It’s just. God, you can’t do this. Not to yourself. I need to…” Protect you. Save you. Stop you from doing something you can’t undo. “Please don’t do this.”

TJ looked up at Steve, eyes watery. A sob escaped his delicate lips, his eyes fading into a violent red as tears spilt and TJ wiped them away but his pupils remained dilated. “It’s not that bad,” he promised weakly, fighting for the one thing that might salvage him. He needed it, that’s what Steve didn’t understand. This wasn’t a choice anymore. “I can…I can cut down! But just…please don’t take it away.”

Steve’s face softened. He got down on one knee, ignoring the pain of his knee digging into the wooden floor. “You don’t need it, Teej. You can overcome this.”

“No I can’t!” He screamed desperately. “It helps me. Everyone…everyone’s trying to get something from m-me but if th-they see me as an addict, th-then th-they won’t,” he hiccuped incoherently. He had no idea what he meant at this point. They were just superfluous words designed to trick Steve into giving in.

“You don’t owe anyone anything. You don’t need this.” TJ stared up at Steve’s puppy-dog eyes. His heart broke a fraction at a time, his stubbornness fractioning with each piece. “Do it for me.”

“O-okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I’ll go clean. I promise. For you, I-I’ll do it. I don’t even know why I started again- I just- I couldn’t- I don’t-“ TJ broke off into loud sobs and buried himself in Steve’s shirt, relishing in the way the man rubbed at his back comfortingly. Steve didn’t speak, he didn’t know what to say. He’d never held a crying man before. He didn’t know if he could recall a man crying. Even in war, men hid what they really thought. He knew they cried in private (as had he) but he hadn’t held any of them whilst they did so. This was new, uncharted territory. One that he couldn’t navigate. But hell if he was going to give up in doing so.

He was a stubborn sonofabitch and he knew, looking down at this man, that he would do anything for him.

“I want this,” Steve promised. “But you have to stay clean. No drugs. I still need a little time…but…I think you do as well. We’ll do this slowly. And you’ll get clean. And I’ll adjust. It’ll all be okay.” TJ nodded into Steve’s shirt and mumbled a quiet “okay”.

**Tuesday, 21st May 2013**

TJ woke up again in Steve’s bed the next day, their bodies as far apart as they could be, backs to each other. TJ quietly crawled out from the duvet and padded across the floor and slipped quietly into the corridor and then into the bathroom. He didn’t bother switching the lights on, opting to shuffle around in the dark for the sake of his delicate eyes. Lazily, he went through the motions and rubbed at his eyes. Staring at himself in the mirror, the first spark of hunger crawled into the back of his mind. It was like a snap; all it took was one hit and the change had been marked. He had woken up fine but now he was _hungry_. He wanted something to just…fill the void. Shaking, he reeled backwards and out the door, to see Steve blearily shuffling out the bedroom, tightening the drawstring of his sweatpants. “TJ, you okay?” He whispered, voice hoarse. TJ didn’t have the capability to answer, he rushed into the bedroom and scavenged through his stuff until he found a small pouch of white powder, shining like stardust, promising its incapable healing. Steve had followed him and as soon as it was clutched in his hand, it was being taken away. Sternly, Steve ordered him to hand over the rest but TJ was manic; he didn’t care that this was Captain America, that was his. Adrenaline pumping through his system, he launched himself upwards and towards the bag but Steve was bigger and trained. Effortlessly, he dodged and held the bag away. “I want the rest,” he ordered again, mouth in a tight line. God, TJ wanted a line.

“No. Come on. I’ll give up, I promise. I just need one line for today and then never again,” TJ begged, futilely jumping for the bag.

“That’s not how this is going to work. You’re going to stop.”

“I don’t want to spend my time here in fucking withdrawal! Just give me the bag!”

Steve was a stubborn bastard. “No. Do you have any more?”

“What do you think? If I had more I would have fucking taken it by now! Now give it back.” Steve didn’t answer, just turned his back and strode to the bathroom, dumping the entire pouch into the toilet bowl before TJ could stop him. TJ, in a fit of manic, reached into the toilet bowl but the flush had already been pressed.

Faced with the loss, TJ sat back, staring at the swirling water and feeling the phantom dirt infect his hands. “No,” he whispered. “No! I needed that!” He screamed, turned around and hitting Steve’s leg from his place on the floor. “I fucking needed that!”

“No you didn’t,” Steve states surely.

“Yes, I did,” TJ sobbed, tears finally streaming down his dirtied cheeks. TJ was dirty, he was disgusting, he couldn’t even…

Steve kneeled down behind him and wrapped his arms gently around him, holding him close. “It’s going to be alright, Teej. It will be. I promise.”

“No, it won’t,” TJ choked out, lip trembling uncontrollably as he scrambled for breaths.

“It will be,” Steve repeated. “I know it will.” They stayed there on the floor until the tears faded, leaving TJ to lazily get through his morning routine, his whole body still buzzing. “What a way to start a relationship,” he choked out, a tear slipping from his eye.

“Better now than later,” Steve muttered into his ear, his breathing deep, pushing back his own anxiety and ignoring his own frantic heart.

“I need a distraction,” he stated when Steve finally pulled him up. “Can we go out?”

“TJ…” Steve murmured. “Why don’t we watch something on the TV.”

“No, I need to _do_ something. Anything. I just need to…”

“I don’t think going out is the best idea right now.”

“Why? What could be wrong? We go out all the time.”

“I know but…”

“You don’t want to be seen with me anymore,” TJ realised.

“No,” Steve tried to argue, though his efforts were futile. “You’re struggling and the media shouldn’t see you-“

“Don’t you dare put this on me. The media know jack shit about what I go through and I’ve thrown it in their face. This is about you.”

“If you really need to then I guess we could…”

“Oh for fuck sake!” TJ shouted. “No, I’m not letting you do this self-sacrifice shit either.”

“Then what do you want?!” Steve shouted, eyes wide. TJ backed down immediately, fear paralysing him. “I don’t know,” he muttered, chastised. “I just want to…do something.”

“Oh fuck. I shouldn’t have done that.” Steve buried his head in his hands, wiping them slowly down his face until he could look TJ in the eye again. “How about we stay inside today?”

“Yeah, okay. But we’re going to go out at some point. After you come out.” TJ knew he’d stepped on a mine as soon as he’d said it. Steve shut down; wary eyes turning cold…no, blank. “Yeah,” Steve murmured deathly and went to the sofa. To anyone else, he might still have appeared normal but TJ could see defensiveness when confronted with it. He’d seen it in the mirror enough times.

“You are planning to…” Steve remained mute. “Steve, you have to,” TJ said, a little selfishly.

“Do I? I-“ Steve paused. “I know I do. I will. I’m just…” I’m scared, he wouldn’t say. “This isn’t about what other people think, Teej. This is about me. I grew up…” Steve trailed off, eyes wandering to the window, watching the light flitter gently through the fine curtains. “I was a Catholic for most of my life. Now, I’m…well, it’s complicated. But I still go to church and I still believe there’s a God. And the God I was raised with, he said…he told me I couldn’t be like this. I don’t care what the media says, or what other people say. That’s never been my problem. They can say whatever they want. But I can’t honestly tell them until I’ve accepted it myself. I’m betraying the religion I grew up with, TJ, the one I genuinely believe is right. And I just want to…” not be stuck with this curse.

“Want to what?”

“Forget it.” TJ sighed and went to sit down by Steve, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you feel that way but this,” TJ said, intertwining their fingers, “is not wrong. I’m sorry that Christianity says that it is. I’m sorry that you have to struggle with that. But I’m here to say otherwise. What you feel is not wrong. It’s real.” Steve stared down at their joint hands and sighed. “I know,” he admitted, “and I want to believe that. I just need to give myself time to do so.”

“I know but you should at least know where I stand.” Steve’s eyes travelled from their hands to TJ’s face, unable to suppress the small smile that threatened the corners of his lips. It soon fell, the frown behind it uncovered by dark, sliming thoughts. Thoughts of self-hatred and fear of something dark coming for him.

When he pushed that plane down into the Arctic, he genuinely believed he would go to heaven.

If he was to die now, he wouldn’t be so sure.

But, he was torn in half: did he give in to what he knew what right (it _felt_ right) or did he follow what others said was right, safe in the knowledge that it would save him from something worse later on? Because even if could hide this from the public and spying eyes, he couldn’t hide it from his own God.

But it wasn’t just that. The fear of hell was almost just as strong as the fear of what could happen whilst he was still alive. He could be so selfish sometimes but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to hear the slander from the public, the hate and the violence towards him and have the knowledge that he agreed with them.

He remembered the days back when he was a scrawny kid and people stared at him. He’d stick his head up high and pretend he knew he wasn’t the laughing stock of the street: ‘little ol’ Steve Rogers, the one who’s not gonna make it past twenty, trying to punch punks in alleyways, how silly’. It got to him. Over time, his invisible thoughts had festered and had become a creeping monster that remained implanted in his subconscious to this day.

He didn’t want to hear the public outcry and let their opinions remain implanted too. For TJ’s sake, even more so than his.

He thought back to Bucky’s words the night of the world fair, telling Steve that he was kidding himself if he didn’t think he was trying to prove himself. He was right. Steve had been so caught up in his own failings that he hadn’t even noticed that his priorities had changed. His fear had driven him to selfishness. However much of that he was capable of, anyway.

He may not have been actively hurting the public. This was no attack. But withholding information like this was, well, it wasn’t helping anyone. This was a different kind of sin: the sin of choosing the wrong path, of seeing the opportunity for good and turning away from it. He had selfishly turned away from good to save himself from being the martyr. Steve was willing to lay down his life for a lot of things: he wasn’t quite as willing to live through them.

Emotions required a strength Steve didn’t have. This wasn’t violence, or aliens, or battles, or monsters. This was human guilt, fear and depression. This was his never ending fear of rejection, never dulled by the cyclical repetitiveness. He could block, defend and laugh his way through the pain. He could cry when no one else was in sigh. He could smile whenever someone was watching. But he couldn’t ignore the growing emptiness in his gut. He couldn’t ignore the gaping hole that would emerge if he finally stood up and told the world what he was, knowing how much he hated himself for it.

He couldn’t do it. He would need more than just a little training. But this wasn’t looking at himself in a mirror and vowing to get stronger; this wasn’t going down to Goldie’s gym and trying to pack muscle onto his chicken-like bones. This was looking inside himself, examining his emotions, and tearing them apart. This was evaluating his philosophy and breaking it. This was to get Steve Rogers, the most stubborn man the world has ever known, to _change his view_.

“When you do it,” (_when_ not if), “it’s going to be so amazing, Steve. I promise.” It wasn’t for me, TJ didn’t add. But I’ll be here this time. I’ll protect you from the bullets. I’ll do anything for you, TJ thought. Fuck, I’d actually do anything.

He’d fallen. And he’d fallen too fast.

Again.

“Just think about it. Please. I’m not asking you to change how you feel but just think about it.” Steve nodded numbly and quelled down the rising guilt that threatened to make its way up his throat.

“I will,” he promised.

**Thursday, 4th July 2013**

TJ had been so caught up in the chaos that was his life that he’d only seen Steve twice since May, both in early June, meaning he hadn’t seen Steve in around a month. The ache was starting to tear him apart, and he found himself staring more and more at the secret contacts at the bottom of his phone, finger hovering above them: it would only take a little tap, just a gentle press. Each time, he found himself flinching away, discarding his phone on the nearest surface. But, it was still becoming too much and TJ wasn’t known for his self-restraint. So, despite the protests from his parents, he told them he’d be spending the 4th of July down in NYC with a few friends of his (pointedly not Steve, he didn’t want it to be too suspicious, even if it was likely his mother already knew the whole story).

TJ couldn’t have hidden his giddy delight when Steve had revealed that his birthday was the same day of Independence Day, because he just wasn’t American enough. It was common knowledge apparently and it shouldn’t “crack you up so much, Teej, it’s just my birthday”. TJ found it endlessly hilarious anyway.

Unfortunately, it did mean he was getting into JFK at six fricken o’clock in the morning, without Steve to greet him on the other side (cameras, videos, blah, blah, blah). He zombied through the airport until he managed to tiredly hail a taxi and gave them Steve’s address (or rather, a block away because Steve didn’t want the _taxi_ driver saying anything, did he? God, TJ had kept Sean a secret for six months; this shouldn’t have bothered him so much. Probably being clean. Fuck that, he thought, before catching himself. He could only imagine what Steve would think if he knew what TJ was thinking half the time).

So, he stumbled to Steve’s apartment, after a little detour, in the sweltering humidity of the morning, knocking on the door with as much energy as a cat’s paw. Steve opened the door looking as perfect as ever, even at this ungodly hour (oh, for fuck’s sake, TJ wasn’t even surprised anymore). Fuck, this man was perfect. TJ looked down at his feet.

He certainly wasn’t.

“TJ! Come in.” Steve smiled, ushering TJ in before examining the street surreptitiously and shutting the door. “God,” he breathed as soon as they were in the clear, “I missed you.” TJ smiled at the affection and wrapped his arms around Steve, bag hanging limply in his hand. “I missed you too,” he replied candidly. They stayed like that for as long as they could before Steve pulled away and brought him up the stairs and into his actual apartment, ignoring his neighbour’s door slamming shut (he’d definitely been spying, he just didn’t know why and it wasn’t worth his time today. He told himself he hadn’t seen anything, only two friends reuniting. He told himself he wouldn’t suspect a thing). “How have things been? It feels like it’s been ages,” Steve asked, locking the door and watching as TJ re-familiarised himself with Steve’s apartment.

“Good, good,” TJ muttered absently, staring at the wood. “Have you ever thought about getting a…rug or something.” His eyes drifted to the walls. “Or a picture?”

“Oh.” Steve sounded genuinely surprised, examining his apartment. “I mean, I know it’s bare but I just didn’t think of…I mean, I did, a while back but it just never…never happened.” Steve sighed, chastising himself for his own procrastination.

“We should go shopping together,” TJ smiled, “get something for this place. How long have you had it?”

“About a year now,” Steve admitted, an embarrassed blush spreading across his pale skin. “SHIELD got it for me. To be honest, I don’t feel like it’s even mine. Don’t spend much time here anyway. Especially lately. I’ve been busy.”

“Haven’t we both,” TJ sighed, coming up beside Steve and brushing their arms together, signalling that nothing would happen without Steve’s permission. Slowly but surely, Steve brought an arm around TJ’s shoulders (for a man that was barely an inch taller than him, he still managed to make TJ feel small. TJ loved it). Breathing loudly in the empty silence of the room, TJ let his head fall against Steve’s shoulder and tried to relax.

The hyperbolic tension of the last few months had sent him into overdrive; it had been too long since he could just relax. “So, birthday boy,” TJ finally teased, “what’s on the agenda for today?”

Steve gasped. “And here I’d thought you’d forgotten.”

“How could I, Mr America?” Steve just rolled his eyes and pulled away, going to sit on the sofa, TJ trailing obsequiously after him. “I was thinking maybe just…staying in? If that’s alright. With all the celebrations going on, staying inside just makes it feel-“

“A little more like a birthday?”

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled.

“Not a bad idea,” TJ capitulated. “But, we need some sort of plan. Who else do you want to bring?”

“Oh. Um, I thought it would just be us two.”

“Do you not have anyone you could…” TJ paused, “or do you just not want people to meet me? Because I can pretend just fine, they don’t need to know-“

“No, it’s not that at all. I wouldn’t mind my friends meeting you,” (he really wouldn’t but TJ was right, he wasn’t ready for them to know just yet. If you could count the Avengers as his friends at all. He was too scared to let them know just yet. Who knows how fast they could kick him off the team), “but I don’t-“ Steve sighed, feeling just like his sixteen-year-old self again, “I don’t really have any,” he admitted bluntly, unable to curve around the point. Back then, he’d had Bucky. Now he had TJ. It was almost painful that the most friends he’d ever had was during the war.

“Oh.” TJ blanched, mouth gaping open like a fish. “But what about the Avengers? They’re you’re…”

“Colleagues. We’re…sort of close but we don’t really function outside of missions. We’re messy, all of us, sometimes it just doesn’t work when we’re together. And, if I’m honest, apart from Thor, I’m the biggest…outsider, I guess. Or just the loner. Natasha has Clint. Tony has Bruce. And Thor is back on Asgard for the most part. So that just leaves me.”

“Steve-“

“No, it’s fine. I got you, right?” Steve forced a half smile onto his lips, trying to remind himself that it didn’t matter that TJ was his only friend.

But it did matter. It felt like Peggy all over again. At least with Bucky, they had the solid foundations of childhood to trick Steve into believing that their friendship was infallible. But, with Peggy, it was the first time he’d ever realised that relationships came and went: they weren’t there forever.

And then Bucky had died and the one relationship that he’d relied on to always be there was actually the first to be lost.

And now Steve couldn’t help but wonder whether he was going to lose TJ too. He wondered whether he’d be left alone again, this time in a time he recognised but couldn’t care less for.

“Yeah, you do but Steve, if we’re gonna-“ TJ stopped himself. He wanted to say that Steve should get friends but that childish selfishness that always lingered drew him back. If he was Steve’s and Steve’s alone then…

Well, Steve couldn’t give him up that way.

“No. Just, yeah, you got me. Always.” TJ gulped. He hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. But, he couldn’t find it within himself to take it back, nor could he find the confidence. But, even then, he wasn’t sure he wanted to take it back. He wanted Steve, always, he knew that. And sure, maybe TJ was falling too hard and too fast again. And sure, TJ shouldn’t have been making promises, especially when he’d already learnt how fragile they really were. But Steve just smiled.

“Thank you.”

After that, the day went slowly. The clock ticked laboriously on as they busied themselves with menial tasks. TJ was twitchy but controllable; Steve even taught him how to throw a few good punches to get his energy out. Given, TJ was awful at it but it was fun and he could now gloat about being trained by Captain America to anyone willing to listen (no one, admittedly, but maybe one day. Or maybe Doug. He knew Doug wouldn’t really care but he still kinda wanted to show off a little).

Their ‘party’ started at six o’clock. So, at five o’clock, Steve unpacked the garish decorations Tony had sent him (“his sense of humour is…interesting. But, at least it’s something”) and he and TJ set to work on hanging up the American flags across the edges of the bare room. Once they were done, almost blinded by the sheer amount of red, white and blue, TJ took a step back and examined the handiwork. “Huh,” he acknowledged, “not bad.”

“Well, you did say I should decorate.”

“If you keep these up,” TJ warned. Steve just laughed, hand raising to his chest as he let it out. Fuck, it had been too long since he’d properly laughed. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the ironic decorations or the smile curling the edge of TJ’s lips but he couldn’t hold it in. “Don’t worry. My artist eyes couldn’t take it.”

“Artist, huh? Are you a professional now?”

“Of course,” Steve reassured. “Have you not seen my world famous exhibition yet? I labelled it ‘TJ’ and it’s comprised of paintings of snarky dogs.”

TJ paused. “Snarky dogs?”

Steve just shrugged. “It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Really? You said TJ and your mind just went…huh, snarky dogs.”

“Don’t you see it? The puppy eyes. The snarky attitude. It all fits together for me,” Steve teased.

“Nope, don’t see it,” TJ shrugged, taking a step closer to Steve, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “Maybe it’s because I’ve never seen these so-called puppy eyes.”

“Oh, so that means you do know you’re snarky.”

“Never said that, Rogers, never said that. Now,” TJ said, changing subjects. “I know it’s a little earlier than planned but how about we get this party started?”

“Seeing as you planned it in an hour this morning, I’m a bit worried about what you came up with.”

“Well, it’s a bit of a two in one. We’re going 40s-00s mashup.”

“Mashup?”

TJ rolled his eyes. “We’re mixing the two decades together to create the ultimate party.”

“I’m worried,” Steve deadpanned.

“How dare you!” TJ gasped. “I planned this meticulously so you better take what you’re given. First,” he announced, “is the music.” TJ had decided to start off simple, sticking to the famous stuff, Fred Astaire filling the apartment. TJ didn’t miss the smile that betrayed Steve’s true thoughts when the first lyrics of ‘Night and Day’ began to play. Steve hummed gently as TJ rifled through the fridge. “God, this reminds me of being a teenager.”

TJ laughed quietly. “I didn’t think I’ve ever heard about someone comparing Fred Astaire to their teenage-hood. Sometimes I forget you’re older than Nana.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re over 60 years younger than me.”

TJ shuddered. “God, don’t remind me. And anyway, biologically, aren’t I older than you?”

“Depends what you mean by biologically.”

“You’re a difficult one, Rogers, fuckin’ difficult,” TJ complained, smiling and finally taking enough items out the fridge (how many cartons of milk could this man possibly go through?) that he could reach for what he wanted. “Somehow, I don’t believe that you even want a birthday cake!”

“You-“ Steve gaped, staring at the small little cardboard box with a cake inside, a generic ‘happy birthday’ written across the middle. Steve couldn’t be happy. “When?”

“Made a little stop before I came here. Thought I’d get you something nice. I would have got more but all the best stuff is in DC and planes have security now.” Steve had no idea what TJ was talking about, he’d yet to actually take a commercial flight, but he just nodded along, before pausing. “Best stuff’s in DC? You’re in New York now, pal, we don’t listen to no blasphemy here. New York food is sacred.”

TJ reeled but recovered quickly. “Was that my 90-year-old grandad from Brooklyn I heard? I wouldn’t know, he’s too old for me to hear. His voice went back in his eighties.”

“If there’s one more old joke outta you-“ both of them looked at each before bursting out into peals of laughter, clutching their stomachs. TJ frantically dropped the cake on the table and clutched the counter as he let it out.

Laughs bubbling down, TJ rummaged through his bag and brought out some candles, sticking them in sporadically, not taking time as he added more and more for each year. “Please say you didn’t get my actual age in candles.”

“Nope. Just as many packets as they had. Around 50, I think. It would look too messy if I got the other colours.”

“Yeah, not because you tried to fit almost 100 candles on a cake for a small gathering.” Steve didn’t specify a number. Back in the day, that could have fed a large family. Steve guessed that TJ would say it was closer to a serving for 2.

Steve patiently watched as TJ painstakingly stuck every single candle until sticking the last one horizontally on the edge of the cake. “That’s a fire hazard,” Steve pointed out but TJ just rolled his eyes. “There was one left. I wasn’t going to leave it out.” Steve huffed a laugh and came up beside TJ, staring at all the candles. “I feel like this wasn’t worth it. And we haven’t even lit them yet.”

“Sure it was. Don’t be a downer, Steve.” TJ smiled and slowly lighted each one, eyes flickering to Steve after every one, watching the horrified expression dawn on his face. TJ nudged him playfully when he was done. “So,” he drew out, “think those super soldier lungs can blow out around fifty candles?” Steve raised an eyebrow playfully, taking the bait for what it was: a challenge.

One he would win.

Pushing TJ out the way (gently, of course), Steve stood in front of the cake and blew them out as forcefully as he could. Every single candle unlit…and then relit again. “You…” Steve’s face became a face of abject horror, “do you have magic?” He hissed. And then, with only a beat missed, TJ cracked up.

“God, no! You have…I don’t know, you have weird friends if that’s your first thought. No, it’s science. Candles you can’t blow out! Ta-da!”

“That’s why you could only buy one type of candle, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe?” TJ hedged, the corner of his lips tucking upwards. Steve just stared at him before he let out an amused huff. “You’re a menace.” TJ just smiled, pressing his chest to Steve’s. “And whatcha gonna do about it?” Steve looked, his eyes drew downwards and his lips met TJ’s with no time to spare.

Just for a moment, he wished for every birthday to be like this.

And for a moment, he could ignore the festering guilt in his chest.

He’d given into the sin and it was too late to go back now.

**Thursday, 11th July 2013 **

11th of July. Every year, something bad happened. TJ knew it. He saw the day and he dreaded it. Last year, he’d had such a bad addiction that he’d nearly killed himself with it. The year before, he’d found Sean had a wife and kids, barely a week after they’d first met. Sixteen years ago, his father had found him kissing another boy. And every year in between, it had been no better. When his mum or dad were running for candidacy, 11th of July would always be the day he broke. When he decided to get his life in order, 11th of July would always be the day to throw him back down.

So, when he woke up on Thursday morning, and he checked his phone and saw the date, he’d already given up. Since he’d promised Steve to quit, he’d found himself lost. He braved through it for Steve. He even smiled when Steve was there.

Steve wasn’t here.

He was in his own bed, in his own house, with only himself…and his phone. Two options: dealer or Steve. Steve seemed like the reasonable option. His dealer felt like the _better_ option. It was like a trance. He didn’t know what he’d really done until he’d done it. “Teej! Long time no see. Whatcha want?”

The same as ever.

It barely took fifteen minutes and he had a bag in his hand, taunting him. It was only another five before it was up his nose and through his system. It was half an hour of mania. He laughed. He sent Steve a text with far too many smiley faces (suspicious, he would realise later, but not endangering). He ran around his house like it was a jungle gym. He checked the front door because he kept forgetting if he’d locked it. And he couldn’t let anyone in. There was someone trying to get in…

He scrolled elatedly through the TV channels and watched the Food Network with nothing less than awe. He almost jumped out his skin when something loud bashed on screen. From then he couldn’t stop shaking…

He texted his mother, even though he never did. He assured her he was fine, because he would never ask about her. He didn’t want to hear about her. The thought made the tremors worse…

It only took half an hour for the high to fade and to be replaced by an irrefutable depression. Emptiness, like he’d been carved out. He stared at the bag: at least half was left. He snatched it up and finished the rest.

Another half an hour. Worse tremors; a headache began to rage. But he was happy, _so frickin’ happy!_ He bounced around the walls like they couldn’t hurt him. Smashed glasses because the glass couldn’t hurt him. Put the shower on full heat and stood underneath it because it was fun and he was indestructible. Bought a car because he could and he was rich (or, well, his parents were).

Another half an hour. The depression hit again, but this time there was no fix, only a vacant heart and an anxiety-ridden brain. Whilst he’d been buzzing a minute earlier, now his movements were so languid, he could almost believe he was a liquid. Like mercury. Poisonous, never quite stuck like it was supposed to, as shiny as a star until it burned and left nothing but red blood stains.

Staring emptily at the walls, he buried himself into foetal position, bringing his legs up onto his sofa and burying his head between his knees. His phone taunted him as it waited on the table. It buzzed twice, two notifications at once, a cruel act of coincidence, tearing him apart in ways he didn’t know possible.

In the darkness of his living room, sun flooding in, he stared at them both. The first:

’12:28: Steeb (..)

_Hello :)_’

The second:

’12:28: Londy

_New stuff. Just arrived. If you want a longer fix._’

Fuck. TJ stared at them. Like a child, his heart desperately threw him at the second option: the safe option, the one he knew. It couldn’t go wrong if he knew exactly what was going to happen. But, he’d promised. He said he’d stay clean and he knew he hadn’t, he knew he’d fucked up but something in him, just as childish, wanted him to pretend it had never happened. He wouldn’t tell Steve. He wouldn’t answer Steve. He’d wait a day and put his lying face on.

He wouldn’t get anymore, because that would only consolidate that he was as much of a failure as he believed. But he wouldn’t tell Steve either. He wouldn’t get help. He wouldn’t tell anyone about the tremors running through his body, the shifty eyes, the sudden doubts about everything and anything in his life.

A noice bashed behind him. TJ’s head shot around. Emptiness. Just a shadowy patch where air lingered restlessly. Embarrassed at himself, he turned his thoughts elsewhere and in the loneliness of his own empty apartment, he let himself drift. His mind dragged itself along, languorously shifting from thought to thought, disassociating for seconds of time before coming back into his body, pretending it was just a thought he’d forgotten.

It was an inevitable turn it had to make in the end.

Why? He’d woken up, seen a dreaded date and just…given up? Had that really been reason to just give in and give way to the demons that hid away inside him? His blood boiled at the very thought because although he knew, deep down, that he was a pathetic creature, he did not think that was all it would be.

But why then? His life was going so well. Despite being so far away from Steve, they talked often. When they saw each other, it was almost perfect. But maybe that was it. Almost.

TJ thought about Sean: the hiding, the smiles, the rush. He thought about the breakup. “Just an American punchline.” That was what Sean had said. It had been going so well before that. So who was to say that Steve wouldn’t do the same? Who was to say that Steve wouldn’t slam the door in his face the next time he saw him. What if Steve finally realised that his reputation was more important too.

He said he didn’t care. That it wasn’t his reputation at stake. But it had to be. TJ had been the world of politics for nigh his whole life. He knew what people cared about, where their ambitions lay and what means they would use to get them. He understood their priorities. What came first.

It wasn’t TJ.

It wasn’t _ever_ TJ.

TJ wasn’t important. Not when reputation was at stake.

Never when reputation was at stake.

**Saturday, 13th July 2013**

08:00: Steeb (..)

_Hi. I’m really sorry if I’m taking the wrong message from this but you haven’t answered me since Wednesday. Are you okay?_

13:22: Teej :)

_Im fine_

13:32: Steeb (..)

_Are you sure?_

13:33: Teej :)

_ofc I’ve just been busy. mums been asking me to help her_

13:34: Steeb (..)

_And you agreed to it?_

13:35: Teej :)

_Thought i should_

13:40: Steeb (..)

_Are you sure you’re okay?_

13:41: Teej :)

_course I am! Stop asking ffs_

** Sunday, 14th July 2013 **

**STEVE ROGERS AND TJ HAMMOND OVER!?!**

**Steve Rogers and TJ Hammond no longer seen together in public.**

_Despite having no permanent press release stating a relationship, it was thought that Hammond and Rogers might have been part of an amorous relationship, sparking rumours about the Captain’s sexuality…_

Read more about this story on _The Sun Online_…

**Sunday, 14th July 2013**

09:22: Steeb (..)

_Have you seen the article?_

09:31: Teej :)

_What article?_

09:32: Steeb (..)

_The one from the English newspaper. The Sun. _ _link inserted_

09:34: Teej :)

_I ask a man out and they think its a break up grat_

09:35: Steeb (..)

_^great_

09:35: _why do they care about my sexuality so much?_

09:35: Teej :)

_Youre a national icon. U r one of the straightest men on the planet for most people. People care if somthin changes_

09:36: _u gonna tell them?_

09:36: Steeb (..)

_The media?_

09:36: Teej :)

_Obvs._

09:37: Steeb (..)

_I already told you, I can’t._

09:38: Teej :)

_Why not?_

09:38: Steeb (..)

_Because I’m not ready_

09:38: Teej :)

_What aren’t you telling me. your not this hesitant over other shit_

09:40: Steeb (..)

_Thanks. And I’ve given you my reasons. I just need time to think._

09:42: Teej :)

_Haven’t seen you do it that much_

09:42: Steeb (..)

_Well, I am now_

09:43: Teej :)

_why?_

09:43: Steeb (..)

_What?_

09:50: Teej :)

_Helpful_

01:20: Steeb (..)

_You’re not making sense. I just need to think about it_

01:31: Teej :)

_You’re running away from your problems_

01:32: Steeb (..)

_And you’re pushing me too far! What happened to giving me time?_

01:32: Teej :)

_I guess I’ll just fucking go then_

01:33: Steeb (..)

_No, wait!_

01:35: _Don’t go._

**Monday, 22nd July 2013**

Steve came back from the mission haggard and sweaty. Mud and dust had turned his blue suit a deep navy whilst the hazardous red splatters had now turned a rusty brown, embedded in the hard-natured fabric of his armour. Steve winced, blood trickling from his forehead and down his nose, as he hit the light switch and watched as the common room flooded with garishly bright lights. Well, they weren’t that bright…or bright at all but hell, Steve had been underground for the better part of three days, the light was bright and he hated it.

Outside, stars were shrouded by the thick pollution of New York’s heart as the sky shone dark. The clock passed precariously past midnight and the Avengers all fell down onto the couches. They still didn’t often work as a team; they were rarely all together like this at all. Since last years attacks, they’d slowly grown closer but at the pace of molasses. They stuck in their knitted pairs and didn’t dare throw themselves out of their comfort zones unless their teammate was under the threat of bullets…or magic…or alien ray-guns…or, well, the list was endless.

Sat next to Thor, feeling squashed into the corner despite the sofa’s size, Steve gazed longingly out the window. TJ was back in DC and Steve had never quite felt more of an urge to get back on the Quinjet and get dropped off elsewhere.

As the group sat silently, all musing over the same things (where they’d gone wrong, the people they’d seen die, the blood they knew was on their hands). Steve clung to those thoughts like they were his lifeline to redemption, like they might salvage whatever humanity he had left in him.

He’d washed his hands enough times to realise the red would never quite fade. Over time, it would turn brown. It was the best he could hope for, really.

It was his exhaustion that got to him in the end. The effort to think about the bad overtaken by the sheer mental effort it took. It came naturally, in the beginning: grief, guilt, remorse. Now, killing was just as familiar.

Steve didn’t like to think about it.

Nevertheless, his mind wandered, his shaking hands unable to cling onto the thin threads of sorrow that linked him to his crimes. Sometimes, the mind just had to leave. Only so much self-flagellation could ever make a difference, no matter what Steve was determined to think.

His mind found itself at his conversation with TJ the week before. The messages wouldn’t stop rolling around his head. You’re running away from your problems, he’d said. Steve knew it was true, _he knew_, but he couldn’t find himself to stop. A single sentence and Steve had been thrown off course and, inexplicably, his perception had made the subtlest shift.

It was always going to be TJ who made him change his ways. Too many people had done the same thing and been shot down by his wilful stubbornness but when TJ did it…Steve gave in.

It was dangerous. It was _love_.

Steve wanted to do what TJ wanted. He wanted to care for him, help him, be his rock-like Bucky had been his. He wanted to pay back the debt he owed to a long-dead man by doing his own service to another. He couldn’t have done it with Peggy, she was too wilful in her own right, but he’d wished he could.

He couldn’t justify this any longer, though. This wasn’t stubbornness or determination, this was cowardice; he was clinging to flimsy excuses. Even if he was disgusted by himself, that didn’t mean the people he knew best would be disgusted too. The public, maybe, their opinion would be split. But, looking around at the ramshackle group of superheroes, he couldn’t really believe that they would hate him for this. Life had moved on. It didn’t matter what he thought. This would make TJ happy.

It wasn’t as if he could keep blaming religion anyway. He’d just seen a woman being crushed by a rock, he couldn’t realistically tell himself that God still mattered when he let more and more of these atrocities happen.

Good people were dying.

Steve still clung to his faith like maybe it was all part of a fucked up plan. It made it easier.

But from here, he didn’t know where to move. He’d buried himself behind a thousand walls and he didn’t know whether to barrage through them or pick them apart. Did he come out and say it or did he hide behind excuses and slowly let the idea unfold. Did he tell them about TJ?

No…he couldn’t. TJ was his. He was Steve’s secret and Steve’s alone. Fuck, Steve didn’t know what he wanted. He couldn’t make up his mind. Well, he wouldn’t tell them about TJ anyway. That would come later. He would wean them onto the idea that he might be, well, a queer. An invalid. A pervert.

He didn’t want to talk about TJ now anyway. Lately, something had been wrong, Steve knew it. It came in the subtlety of the messages but he saw it. TJ was quicker to anger, less inclined to humour and seemed to switch personalities when he felt like it. Steve didn’t want to push. He kept telling himself that maybe it was him: maybe he was just reading the messages the wrong way. After all, there was no definite way of checking but asking and he’d tried that. TJ had said he was fine.

So maybe he was.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

“Rogers is looking especially pensive tonight,” Natasha commented. “Miss a date? The one you keep texting?”

Steve turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “And if I had?”

Tony laughed. “As if. This man is the most virgin of all virgins. Even if he does blush at his phone like a schoolgirl.”

“Dates don’t always have to mean _sex_, Tony,” Natasha replied, rolling her eyes.

“But the good ones do,” he smarted.

“I have no doubt that our Captain could find himself a lady to court if he so wished,” Thor interjected, a gentle smile on his face (oh, what faith he had in them. It was almost scary).

“I bet $10 he couldn’t,” Tony quipped, looking smug.

“$10 he’s already been on one,” Natasha cashed in, eyeing Steve seductively. Shit. She knew. “You’ve seen how much he’s looking at his phone nowadays.”

“If Nat’s betting for it, I’ll follow.” Clint eyed Steve strangely; he must have inferred the same as Steve. Tony groaned and shouted out “anyone else with me? Bruce? What about you? Support me here, buddy.”

Bruce just shook his head. “Not this time, Tony.”

“Ugh! Thor?”

“I do not know how much this…ten dollars is…” Thor was rarely on Earth and by now, even Steve felt like he was miles ahead, “but I am afraid if I have to side, I will have to side with Lady Romanoff.”

“How am I the only one who thinks that…_that_,” he exclaimed, pointing at Steve, “couldn’t find a date! No offence, Cap. It’s not the looks but…” Steve didn’t want to even hear him out. He knew Tony didn’t really mean it, he was only jeering but in the usual Tony was, he was beginning to grate on Steve’s nerves. Steve didn’t even know what he was trying; he’d been just as teasing as Natasha when it came to his ‘secret lover’ on his phone.

Steve inspected Natasha, her careful posture and steadfast gaze. “What do you know?” He interrogated, mindful of the others in the room.

“Enough,” she shrugged. Steve blanched, ignoring Tony’s “ooooh!” in the background. “Look, Steve, you don’t have to say their name but you know we’ll support you.” Steve almost reeled back at Natasha’s sudden care. He’d seen her tease and taunt, all with the best in mind, but he’d never seen her so straightly say what she wanted to say, even if it was crippled with euphemisms and unknowns.

“Will you?”

“Of course. You’re our friend.” Steve paused. It was the first time any of them had said it. Despite their awkwardness and their orbiting and never quite touching at the truth, maybe they were friends. Steve thought about the Howlies and how close they were and he couldn’t see the connection but he could see…something different. This wasn’t camaraderie like that was. This was a bunch of ragtag orphans, collected together and sharing their suffering. They weren’t stronger because there was a war, or necessity. They were stronger because they all had lost their families a long time ago, and this may be the only one they had left.

Steve’s eyes fell to the ground, brows furrowed. “How much do you know about him?” He asked, careful of exactly how he worded it. He almost stood up at Tony’s indignant squawk of “he?!” Instead, he just settled for glaring intently: it was as cruel as he could get with Tony. “You have a problem with that?”

“No! No!” Tony shouted immediately. “It was just…unexpected. I really expected you to be on the straight side, not the…other one. You know, because of Peggy and all.”

“Well, I’m in the middle, thanks for asking.”

“Woah, progressive, Cap. Who taught you that? Oh, wait, no! Please say it’s a boyfriend. Oh, I so want to know who this is.”

Steve rolled his eyes and leaned back, forcing himself to relax. “You’ll know when I want you to know.”

“What?! But Romanoff clearly knows!”

“And yet I didn’t tell her,” Steve stated bitterly, catching her gaze out of the corner of his eyes. She shrugged unapologetically.

“But I want to _know_.”

“Before Tony can go any further with this,” Bruce interrupted, “I just wanted to add that we really are all okay with it. I’m not sure how much you’re used to, having grown up in a time where it was…well, you know…but thank you for trusting us.” Steve blushed under Bruce’s kind gaze, nodding his thanks before the man excused himself to go to sleep.

“I shall follow our friend to the sleeping quarters!” Thor announced loudly, voice booming, resting a hand on Steve’s shoulder before standing as well. “I do not know what the customs here are but they seem important so I shall say that I am…’okay with it’ as well.” Steve couldn’t stop the smile that found its way onto his lips. Despite his clunky speech, Thor was probably the most welcoming of them all. He learnt culture with a fascination (a character development, Clint had assured them) and learnt to mimic what he saw around him, often in a frankly adorable fashion.

Leaving an almost palpable trail of the confidence behind him, Thor left Clint, Natasha, Steve and Tony on the three sofas, all surrounding the large TV. “Good for you, man,” Clint added, in his own usual way. His smile said enough, though. It was one of pride.

“I still just can’t…believe it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, totally good for you, Cap, but seriously, how did I not know that?”

“You may be a genius, Stark, but when it comes to emotions you are painfully blind,” Natasha sighed, raising a pointed eyebrow.

“Low, Natasha, low.” Steve just watched as the conversation played out, smile gently pulling up the corners of his lips. He hoped this was a precursor. That maybe he one day he could see himself the way they saw him. That one day he wouldn’t fall asleep with a prayer on his lips, where guilt was a distant curse.

He was one step further. And one was further than he’d gotten in a long, long time.

**Tuesday, 23rd July 2013**

17:02: Steeb (..)

_I told my team_

17:12: Teej :)

_told them what?_

17:12: Steeb (..)

_that I had a boyfriend._

17:13: _they were really accepting. I didn’t say it was you. Didn’t know if I could. Natasha knows but she knows everyone’s secrets. But it feels like a weight off my shoulders._

17:20: Teej :)

_Wow Steve! That’s rlly good! I’m proud!!!_

17:21: _But do u think coming out is still out of the question? Sorry I keep pushing this. I’m not even fussed or anything but I think it might make things easier u know. My last partner didnt come out and still hasn’t it just made evrything kinda difficult_

17:22: Steeb (..)

_I’m sorry, Teej. I know what you’re feeling but I’m not sure. I just need to think about it more._

17:31: Teej :)

_Ok that’s fine. No pressure_

*

20:03: Natasha Romanoff

_TJ Hammond then? ;)_

20:05: Old Man Steve

_Yes. You have a problem with that?_

20:06: Natasha Romanoff

_Too quick to anger Steve. I just wanted to warn you to be careful. He’s a type_

20:06: Old Man Steve

_A type?_

20:07: Natasha Romanoff

_he’s not a great person Steve_

20:10: Old Man Steve

_Stop. I don’t need to hear it. I know about some of what I’m assuming you’re talking about but this is between me and TJ. Don’t get involved_

20:11: Natasha Romanoff

_Just trying to help :(_

20:12: Old Man Steve

_I know, Nat, sorry. But I’ve got a deal with him going and I can’t have you ruin that._

20:12: Natasha Romanoff

_Okay. But be careful. Please_

20:12: Old Man Steve

_Always_

20:13: Natasha Romanoff

_See you at the memorial?_

20:32: Old Man Steve

_Of course. I’ve been helping with the preparations_

20:32: Natasha Romanoff

_It’s been a year Steve. You don’t have to help_

20:34: Old Man Steve

_It’s only been a year, you’re right. That’s why I have to help._

20:34: Natasha Romanoff

_You don’t owe them anything. We saved the world. Remember?_

20:36: Old Man Steve

_I guess we did. But I’m just doing the right thing._

20:36: Natasha Romanoff

_Of course you are. Good luck old man ;)_

**Thursday, 15th August 2013**

“Steeeeeeve!” TJ whined, standing on his tip-toes, arm stretched into the air. Steve smirked, arm above his head, TJ’s phone in hand. He leant back and balanced precariously on his toes. Despite TJ’s smaller frame, he was almost exactly the same height as Steve, meaning Steve’s only advantage was his speed.

“I’ll give it back when you tell me why you bought a Lamborghini, in _lime green_.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time!”

“Green!”

“Give me my phone back!”

“Tell me why!”

“I don’t have a reason!”

“You bought a _Lamborghini_! How did you even afford that?”

“…my parents,” TJ mumbled weakly, defeatedly falling back onto his feet. “Look, it was a drunk mistake but I’m too embarrassed to give it back so here it stays.” Well, it wasn’t that. He’d stolen the money for the car and he wasn’t going to tell his parents that (they’d find out eventually but he wasn’t ready to face them. Not yet).

“Drunk…god, Teej,” Steve sighed, pushing the phone weakly into TJ’s hand. “That’s expensive. You can’t just keep it for the sake of it.” Steve had become accustomed to a lot of modern things, and things that came with knowing Tony Stark, but Steve’s biggest pet peeve was waste. And TJ clearly wasn’t going to use this car. Ever. It was, if given the benefit of the doubt, hideous and that wasn’t just Steve’s artist's eyes commenting. He’d seen the people in the street. They stared it with two parts awe, ten parts disgust.

“I’ll sell it…at some point,” TJ mumbled weakly. Steve gave up for the meantime. He’d bring it up again tomorrow, maybe push it that time, because he wouldn’t stand for that monstrosity to stay outside in the street. Or, if it had to stay in the street, it could at least be on someone else’s, someone who would actually drive the damn thing.

Rolling his eyes, Steve put his back to TJ and rummaged through the fridge. “So,” he began, drawing out the o, “I wanted to cook for you but I can’t cook so we’re going to do pair cooking.”

“That an order?”

“You’d really rather not taste my cooking. This is for your own safety.”

“Fair enough,” TJ shrugged, “but I’m not a great cook either.” Steve waved a hand lazily at him, dismissing the statement as he got ingredients out of the fridge as TJ buzzed around the kitchen. He was like a boiling kettle, frenetic and loud but as quietly as he possibly could be.

“I looked up a recipe online so we’re doing it. My talents are pretty much chopping and boiling so anything else, you’re going to have to do.”

“Let me guess, all you used to eat is stew, that’s why you don’t know how to cook.”

Steve smirked. “Of course. I only ate stew. And the only meat I would use is cow hooves or brains. Actually, to be fair, I quite liked Caldo de Pata.”

“Caldow de what?”

“Caldo de Pata was what the recipe called it but we call called it cow-feet stew. It was surprisingly good.”

“Cow…feet.”

Steve laughed. “Just because it’s weird doesn’t mean it was that bad! Actually, don’t try it. For some reason, people have such an aversion to certain textures nowadays.”

“Bet it’s slimy. And yes, that’s disgusting.”

“You didn’t live in a time where food was a luxury.”

“You didn’t live in a time where cooking had been invented yet.”

“Hadn’t been…forget that, I’m not even going to answer that.”

“Of course not,” TJ replied smugly, smiling like he’d won. “So, what are we cooking?”

“I looked up ‘interesting and easy food’ and saw this…sheet pan thing. It just looks like a lot of chopping.”

“And chopping is your forte.” They both laughed as Steve set out the ingredients, relegating tasks to TJ when he was caught up in doing too many things at once. It consisted, as Steve had thought, of mostly chopping. But there was a moment at the end, when all the things had been put in the tin-foiled tray, where Steve had to awkwardly ask TJ how to work an oven. By now, he knew how but TJ’s was…modern…and the dials weren’t the same. Steve was sure he could figure it out if he looked but he really didn’t want TJ to watch him awkwardly fiddle with the dials when he could just suck it up and ask for some help.

Peggy would be proud by the character development.

So would Bucky, for that matter.

Steve smiled to himself.

Once the assortment of sausage and vegetables was in the oven, Steve’s watchful eye on the clock, TJ and Steve meandered a bit, landing in each other’s arms a few too many times. A few stolen kisses here and there as they smiled at each other. It was still early days; the long-distance aspect was really retaining the high of a new relationship.

For a moment, Steve wondered what his mother might think of Steve’s life now. She’d always told him to chase his happiness, it was why he went into art. And look at him now, cooking with someone he loved, smiling like the day could never end.

Steve thought about what she would think about TJ. Immediately, she pushed the thought away.

She knew she’d hate him for it.

Steve continued to smile. It was enough that TJ didn’t even ask Steve about coming out. Or going outside. Or even about what he’d said to his friends. He just enjoyed his company, no matter how bittersweet it was. And with a line in his system, it didn’t even matter anyway.

**Tuesday, 17th September 2013**

13:16: Steeb (..)

_I have some free time on my hands. Is it okay for me to come up to DC and see you? When are you free?_

13:19: Teej :)

_Ofc! Come whenever you want. I miss you x_

13:20: Steeb (..)

_I miss you too._

**Thursday, 19th September 2013**

TJ knew Steve was coming. He was even looking forward to it. It was Steve, after all, why wouldn’t he want Steve? He loved Steve. No, wait, not love, of course. Too soon for that. He didn’t love Steve. He liked him; like really liked him.

He was dreading Steve coming.

Tremors ran up his arms and he was darting about the place like crazy. He couldn’t make his mind up; he was splitting in a thousand directions at once. He was about to explode out of his skin and burst into starlight and light up the whole room like he couldn’t before. He wouldn’t be depressing TJ anymore. No, he would be fun TJ. Really fun! He’d be great to hang around. Steve would love him like this. The buzz, the excitement. Who needed boring dates inside anymore? They could go out and conquer the world. TJ could make Steve come out because he loved him.

Wait, no, not love.

They would parade themselves around and TJ would eventually show off a golden wedding ring and they’d have cute little adopted children. Wait, no, TJ didn’t want kids. TJ hated kids. Why would he…

He wanted Steve to hurry up.

He looked at the clock. He had five minutes. No, an hour and five minutes. Fuck, that was too long. He couldn’t have that. Steve was landing soon but he wouldn’t be here for another hour and five minutes. That was when Steve had said he’d come.

So he’d come then. He would.

And TJ had that amount of time to fucking sober up and get his act together. Because Steve couldn’t know about this. No, he definitely couldn’t. The look on his face, TJ could imagine it, the shame, the torment, the fucking _guilt_.

Or maybe he should show Steve. That would be the right way, right? Steve would see him and realise how _happy_ he was like this and he would want to do it too. They could do it together. _They’d be so good together_.

No, wait. Steve wouldn’t do that…he wouldn’t.

And there it was. The inevitable. The twisting in TJ’s hurt, the thing that threatened to pull him apart. It was there from the beginning, he just didn’t recognise it. Above the unconditional affection and desperate yearning, he hadn’t seen the chasm between them. They’d been so fixated on their similarities that they hadn’t acknowledged their differences. The many of them.

Where Steve was perfect, TJ was nothing more than a stain on the carpet. Where Steve was righteous, TJ was corrupt. Where Steve was stubborn, TJ was flexible. Where Steve was an angel, TJ was a demon.

They had no right to be together.

TJ did another line.

And fuck it. The thoughts went. They still barraged him but it was like TJ had headphones on and the noise was far, far away, muffled by thick plastic. The silence set him on edge, constantly looking for things behind his back, but the high was just enough to make him feel like he could fly.

Sweat pooled down his back, gathering in-between the vertebrae of his spine (they protruded now; he ate so little) and the headache pounded like a bass drum. But he loved it. It was like listening to the beat of his heart, a pounding, reassuring rhythm that he was _alive_. So fucking alive! He could jump from a window and be alive! He was a living, breathing creature and nothing was going to stop him.

He was at the top of the food chain and nothing could stop him.

He went to call Steve. No, he was on a plane. Now wasn’t the time. He’d do it later. He would.

The high lasted less and less long every time now. TJ barely made it past the fifteen-minute mark without feeling the pull of depression, pushing him under the suffocating tidal wave of his thoughts, of life. TJ could see objectively just how bad he’d gotten but inside, he was consumed by thoughts of the next fix. He would have more but he knew he couldn’t be high when Steve was here. Rationally, he knew that was a bad idea. TJ was anything but rational. But, he would always have a strain of desperation in him that would lead to these measures. He would hide it, however he could.

He was startled by a knock on the door. And…fuck. Scrambling, he shoved the white powder lines on the table into a baggy and stashed it away in the bathroom, calling a quick “I’m coming!” as he cleaned up as much as he could.

By the time he opened the door, his white shirt had been completely soaked through, sweat patches like pools, leaving the material practically transparent. TJ smiled, trying to cover his nerves with a toothy grin and whilst Steve looked wary, he smiled in return. “Hi, Teej. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m great!” TJ returned, a little too loudly, trying to cover up for the buzzing anxiety inside him that raged against the emptiness that threatened to flood him.

“That’s…that’s good,” Steve returned, frazzled, dropping his bag by the door as he entered, immediately going to the kitchen, so familiar now with the house that it almost felt more like home than home did. Not that that was much of a stretch. Opening the cupboard, he collected a glass and began to fill it with water, looking over his shoulder at TJ. “So, how have you been? It’s been a while.”

“A month,” TJ blurted, sweat pooling at his temples.

“Yeah…a month. So? Anything fun happen?”

“Not…really. Mum’s been doing her Secretary of State stuff. Doug’s been…working. Dad. I don’t really know what he’s been doing. Nana’s great, though! I mean, just as much booze as usual but great. Yeah, great.”

“And you?” Steve asked pointedly as TJ fumbled through his actions, taking a slow sip from his glass.

“Oh…um…great! Really. Great. Been keeping clean.” Fuck, he shouldn’t have mentioned that first, it would be suspicious: Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Mostly sober. I mean, we’ve called, you know what I’m up to. I know what you’ve been up to. So, yeah.” Putting his glass down, Steve frowned and approached TJ, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Great!” TJ shouted, even though Steve was barely a metre away. “I’m really…I really am good. Great. I’m great.”

“Okay, Teej. If you insist.”

TJ didn’t even notice he was shaking.

**Friday, 20th September 2013**

Steve sat on the sofa, lazily peeling the flimsy pages of the newspaper over, letting the words muddle and blur. He was too focused on the clattering sounds in the bathroom. A storm of anxiety pushed past his defences but he refused to stand. He knew what TJ was like; he knew the hurricane that one foot out of place could cause. Steve stepped on eggshells on nights like these. Steve had his suspicions; he’d seen how TJ was acting. But…well, maybe he was a coward but he thought, maybe, if he told himself it wasn’t happening then maybe it wasn’t. If he just didn’t know then it wouldn’t-

It was times like these where Steve felt his worst. The happy times always made him feel like these moments were just blips on the radar but now, after - how long? Three months? - however long it had been, he couldn’t help but feel that the happy moments were the mistakes. The continuous cycle of TJ’s emotions trapped Steve in their web and the cocoon was so thick now that he could barely see to the outside world. The poison had already seeped into his mind - the toxicity plagued him. Steve couldn’t see an out, nor did he think he wanted an out. But when he sat here, on nights like these, he wanted to scream.

He didn’t think TJ even realised. There was delusion behind those eyes. Steve didn’t know how to fix it.

Sometimes he’d trick himself by remembering how good it was when he _saw_ TJ. And then he’d think of all those phone calls where TJ could barely get a word out, or the others where TJ wouldn’t let Steve have a word in edgeways. And for every time they saw each other, there were at least ten calls to fill the gaps.

“TJ?” He called out hesitantly, hoping to the high heavens that there was a sane reply. Nothing. “TJ, are you okay?” Steve tried again, quieter as to not annoy TJ if he’d heard the first time. Still nothing. He knocked gently on the door. Still no answer. “TJ, seriously, you’re scaring me. What’s happening in there?” Steve waited and finally, a choked reply crept round the door. “Nothing.” Steve’s heart fell and adrenaline took its place. Fuck, he knew it. He’d seen it yesterday, he just didn’t want to admit to it. This was…

Anger rushed through him like fear took over a spooked animal and he stormed through the door. God. Powder everywhere, scattered like stardust over the marble. He hadn’t thought…he’d checked his own apartment and he’d been too damn stupid to check TJ’s own. This visit was a bad idea, he had to-

No, he didn’t. Steve didn’t owe TJ a damn thing. He’d been fucking lonely and he’d clung onto the first ghost of the past he saw and this was his karma.

“TJ,” he choked, his heartbreaking for the words that he knew were going to come out next.

“Steve-“

“No, don’t. I…I told you, TJ. This wasn’t…” He took a deep breath, letting the tear spill - it would be the last. “I’m done. Bye, TJ. I’ll come back to get my stuff when you’re sober.” Steve flew out the door, anger flushing his pale skin a burning red, like a flame on the edge of explosion. Slamming the door, he packed up the necessities and bolted out the front door.

Guess it was time to trap himself in a hotel room again. He laughed at himself: he should have never tried to be Steve Rogers. He should have known, _he should have known_, that in times like these, it was only safe to be the projection of himself. It was only safe to be a Captain.

* * *

_ **END OF PART 1** _

* * *


	7. wanna be missed forever in this empty house of mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song: Wanna Be Missed - Hayley Kiyoko / Empty House - Billy Lockett

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> The whole of the second part hasn't been edited yet due to complete lack of inspiration but I'm going to post what I have so far. I've written up to a bit into part 3 and I'll try and get it edited and out there because it'll mean we finally get to Bucky's introduction! I have no hope for this ever to be finished but it's definitely getting somewhere.
> 
> As usual, reviews are very, very welcome!
> 
> Here are just some posting notes:
> 
> 1\. The Salvation Army information comes from the website: http://daytoninmanhattan.blogspot.com/2010/06/1930-salvation-army-centennial-memorial.html  
2\. I couldn't tell whether TJ founded or bought the Dome so it's a bit vague on that front  
3\. GoodWood is real and is open now in the place I described but god knows if it had been in 2014  
4\. TJ is purposefully very annoying and selfish but it's just part of his arc, expect it for now and don't be annoyed. All will be improved later! (Steve is also fairly annoying)  
5\. I have no idea about the White House gardens and who's allowed in, if anyone, so excuse me if Steve is just full out trespassing.  
6\. Steggy is a fairly important to this story. I'm very anti what they did at the end of Endgame with them but I've made it an important part of Steve's past because I do ship them to an extent. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -fouryearslater

* * *

** _PART 2: BEFORE OTHER PEOPLE'S HEARTACHE_ **

* * *

**Thursday, 28th November 2013**

Steve brought the boxes out of the boot of the car and dumped them on the pavement, heaving a sigh. “Thanks for doing this but I can do the rest,” he assured, dropping the last box onto the small stack of meagre belongings he’d collected since last summer.

“We know you can, Rogers,” Natasha replied “but it’ll be done quicker if you let us help.”

“And I really wanna order pizza after this,” Clint added with a crooked smile.

“It’s hardly going to take me much time to do it myself,” Steve argued weakly, staring at the pile.

“So let’s make is super quick. We don’t want you putting your back out.”

“Funny, Nat,” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes, a small smile escaping onto his lips. “Let’s just get this over with.”

It had been exactly 9 weeks, 6 days and 2 hours since he’d broken up with TJ. There was a chance, although slight, that he hadn’t quite gotten over that yet.

This was a new start, he supposed, though it didn’t seem all that practical, seeing as he was moving closer to TJ rather than further away.

Then again, after the…well, after Steve had left, he’d locked himself in his New York apartment, forcefully broken out by a vengeful Natasha who shoved his own unhealthiness in his face. It was the first time that he’d realised that maybe someone other than TJ might have actually cared for him.

So, for the last seven weeks, he’d been living in Stark Tower, on the floors that Tony had made after the Avengers had first fought together, surrounded by faux-40s furniture and a plethora of red, white and blue. Whilst it had been patronising, there had been some comfort in the complete disassociation of the whole place. But, with nothing on his schedule but work, he’d finally decided that he’d get his own place and he’d get it closer to work.

So, DC it was. The Triskelion was in DC and for all that the Avengers fought the big battles, his work was predominantly there. He trained, taught and planned there. Being closer would do him nothing but good. Except, now, he could get to TJ’s house in under half an hour.

He found himself wondering what would happen if he did.

He wouldn’t.

TJ had been the one to fuck up, not Steve. Steve had left for good reason. Though they’d never talked when TJ was sober. It had been a clean break. It was for the best. They were never going to work out anyway. Both of them were too cataclysmic to fit together. But Steve missed TJ’s bright flame (enough that he forgot about the harassing mood-swings, penchant for dramatics and the fucking cocaine. Well, maybe not the cocaine. He’d done a lot of research on cocaine). He missed TJ a lot.

He told himself it was for the best, though. No problems; no guilt. He could go back to loving girls, now. He threw off Natasha’s attempts at getting him a date, although they were sporadic and far between (she wasn’t that insensitive). He could go back to doing things the right way. He didn’t have to feel dirty for the thoughts in his head.

Except they were still there. Just because TJ wasn’t there, didn’t mean the thoughts didn’t still rage. It was almost worse. He wasn’t thinking about marrying a girl and making a life for himself (although, since the ice, he didn’t think he ever was). He was thinking about TJ and his wicked smile and sultry eyes, he was thinking about how TJ smiled at him when he was happy and how he pouted when he wasn’t, he was thinking about how TJ had let Steve feel like himself for the first time this century.

Just because the sin was taken away, didn’t mean the source didn’t remain. He wanted to repent, wanted to tell a priest what he’d done, but he couldn’t find it within himself. Confession was a measure that many took to purge themselves of sins they knew they would commit again. But Steve thought he was better than that. He wasn’t going to purge himself of a sin he was destined to repeat.

He’d told his friends what he was. He’d been accepted for who he was. He’d even donated as much as he thought he could to various LGBT+ charities (and had felt consequently guilty as he wondered how selfless the act really was). He didn’t want anyone to feel like him. But that was still how he felt. He knew, somewhere, that the church was wrong, that his god would never stop him from having this but it was buried too deep and the wounds were still too fresh.

He knew what happened to queers in his day.

Maybe what was so frightening was that he didn’t know what happened to them now. Back then, he could tell himself to stop because he knew that the risks were not worth the consequences. Not for something he could ignore. Now, though…now he didn’t know what would happen to him. He didn’t know the consequences. And it just made the risks all the more tempting.

“Steve? You with us?” Natasha called, two boxes stacked in her arm whilst Clint held the door open, Steve’s new key in hand.

“Yeah, I’m coming!” Steve called back, hastily picking up two of the heaviest boxes, (he would never stop being surprised when he could feel the strain but feel no pain with it) and followed them inside. The interior was a lot nicer than his last place’s but it still wasn’t perfect. Shabby but homely, perfect for Steve. Then again, he’d already known that when he’d gone house hunting. His place would be on the second floor, shared by only one other neighbour, who came out to greet the trio when they lugged the boxes upstairs, leaving the others on the pavement for anyone to take.

There wasn’t anything of enough value for them care about being stolen. Anything important (or rather classified) was in his office (either the Stark Tower or the Triskelion one), leaving only a few clothes and knickknacks to be transported. The only reason there were so many boxes was that Natasha had insisted that Steve buy a few new things before he moved.

Steve had been confused and asked why they wouldn’t just do that once they got to DC. Natasha was right when she had said he wouldn’t do it if she left him to do it himself.

“Hi, I’m Kate,” the girl introduced calmly, a smile perturbing her face. She was sweet, Steve thought, but pretending. Steve would guess it was from nerves; not many people could look him in the eye when they first met him.

“Steve. I’m the neighbour. Nat and Clint are just helping me out with the move.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve.” Thank god, Steve didn’t think he could take another ‘I know’. “Just tell me if you need any help. I’m a nurse so I keep weird hours but I’m usually around otherwise.” Steve smiled and nodded his thanks before opening his own front door and examining the new apartment.

He remembered looking around it for the first time and liking it but more and more, he wished for the safety of his old apartment. It was nicer, this one, and SHIELD had happily put it on their roster of owned apartments (because of course, if Steve owned something, SHEILD owned it too. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if they’d bought the whole building) but it didn’t have the same affiliations of safety that the old apartment had. It was just as blank, just as far away from home as the last but he hadn’t sat for hours in this one and pretended that he could go outside if he’d wanted to. He hadn’t lay in this bed and told himself he could get out of it if he wanted. He hadn’t numbly scrolled through the channels on the TV and told himself he would become a modern person if he just tried.

The changes weren’t all the obvious if he didn’t think about it; the only glaring difference was in size. The addition of an entranceway was hardly noticeable, seeing as the kitchen was only split by an empty cabinet on his right but in front of him, the living room was expansive, an L wall splitting it from the study. Without doors, though, Steve couldn’t help but think it was all the same room; the lack of furniture certainly wasn’t helping him. After that, it was only one bedroom (split again not by a door, but by an archway) and one bathroom (an en-suite). Steve sighed; he didn’t know how he was supposed to fill a place as big as this.

“You should get a rug for this place,” Natasha commented, leaning against the entranceway’s wall, her eyes tracking the furniture like they were about to shoot at her. Mightn’t have been the first time. Steve winced, mind tracking back to TJ’s same comment. He never had got a rug. He was even less inclined to do so now.

“I’ll decorate when I get the chance.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “No you won’t. Be glad we’ve already bought a few things. And you better unpack them, Rogers.”

“I will, I will,” Steve dismissed, placing his boxes by the countertops and exploring the rest of the apartment. It was sparsely furnished, with enough amenities for him to get by for the next few months but that would probably need additions in the long run. The bedroom, a box with a large arched window on the left, held only a bed and a distressed dresser, both in muted shades of brown. The only colour coming into the room was the vaguely blue curtains that were held in place by two silver rungs. Satisfied, Steve ambled to the bathroom: simply furnished with a shower, toilet, sink and cabinet (one behind the mirror and one standing chest of drawers). Pleased by the simplicity of the off white, Steve checked all the cupboards, content with their emptiness and went out to meet back up with Natasha and Clint.

“All to your liking?” Natasha asked, her signature eyebrow risen expectantly.

“Seems good,” Steve replied, his gaze slowly travelling across the living area; countertops, a stove and a fridge; a sofa with a coffee table and a TV stand. “Definitely enough to get by.”

“Yes because you used to live with nothing but a box to sit on. We know,” Clint teased. Steve just sighed; he really had been going too far with the grandpa stories, hadn’t he? Sometimes, though, he just couldn’t stop. It helped to think about the past, or to just compare to the past. It made this feel better if he could pretend it was all just a fantasy.

So maybe he was stuck in the past. It had only been a year, you could forgive him for that.

Soon enough, they had all the boxes inside, stacked neatly on the far wall for Steve to unpack when he felt motivated enough to do so (never). Natasha warned him that she would check up on him next week (so he’d do it by Monday then, probably Sunday) but left soon after, Clint in tow, leaving Steve to his own devices in this empty shell of an apartment.

He collapsed onto the sofa and looked out at the space surrounding him. Without proper furniture, the place was bare and each faraway corner glaringly obvious from his place on the sofa. With nothing but the fireplace in front of him, he stared blankly at the white walls, wondering whether it would be worth putting a few pictures up. The open plan nature of the place was disquieting. For a moment, he considered opening the boxes now and at least putting up a few of the pictures he’d hidden at the bottom, or even put a few books on the empty bookshelves that seemed to be in every corner. God, he’d really missed that upon first look, hadn’t he? There were shelves _everywhere_. He wondered if a librarian had lived here before him. Or a professor. Someone who owned a lot of books, that was for sure.

In the end, he decided against unpacking, scared to face the sheer lack of items he had with him and decided to spend a few hours staring at the far wall, uninspired, demotivated and _tired_.

Goddamn it, he was tired.

** Sunday, 1st December 2013 **

Steve went to church every Sunday. Recently, he wondered why he still did. Every time he bowed his head and prayed, it felt vacant, like holding a phone to your ear knowing there was no one on the other side. He’d tried bringing out his mother’s rosary beads, hoping that - maybe - he’d connect with her rather than this God he held in such high esteem. Nothing had happened. He hadn’t even felt a whiff of hope.

Steve thought that going to church might have…god, he didn’t know, absolve him of his sins? It felt silly to say, like a child thinking that a sorry would solve all their woes. Sorry didn’t solve anything. Still, he vied for it, secretly begging his vacant deity for just some sort of _feeling_. But it had been 10 weeks, one day and twenty-two hours since he’d broken up with TJ and he was still no closer to finding absolution.

He dreamed of TJ sometimes: a wish-wash of long-forgotten memories and dancing laughter. He had nightmares too; he saw blood pouring from TJ’s eyes and spit flying from his mouth as he screamed “disgusting!” like Steve didn’t already know it himself.

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe over the course of modern life, he was slowly becoming accustomed to the dirt on his skin like it was meant to be there, like it wasn’t a tarnishing but a tattoo, a sick and twisted art form on his skin. Maybe he was sick of saving face and lying and pretending to the public that he was anything he wasn’t.

Just because he was sick, didn’t mean he was brave.

In his confusion, a tear strayed down his cheek, hastily wiped away but fallen all the same. Steve breathed in, deep and long, trying to surpass the anxiety that threatened him. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he told the public.

Steve had spent a lifetime fighting for his right to do what was right. First, he’d fought to enlist. Then, he’d fought to save the soldiers at Azzano. After that, he’d fought for his team (he’d fought against the racial injustice that tried to hold them back). Then he’d woken up and he’d fought to not be seen as a man out of time - he wanted to be a man who could fight just the same.

Let’s say he came out now, right now, what would that have been fighting for? His name would be dragged through the mud. His fight would be for nothing. His position could be taken away and what good was he without Captain America?

Steve Rogers was never a hero: he was a scrappy kid from Brooklyn fighting to do something more than himself. But, Captain America was who did it. Not Steve Rogers.

Never Steve Rogers.

He stared up at the stained glass, watched the reds, blues and greens play on his fingertips and sighed. This wasn’t about his God anymore; this was human selfishness. This was fear about what his mother would think, what Bucky would think, what _Peggy_ would think (she was alive, after all). This was fear about what Captain America would become and who he was without the Shield (nothing, he told himself, _nothing_).

God didn’t play a part. Because what God would show him the genocide he’d seen? What God would allow humans to roam as they have? What all benevolent force would allow innocent people to die at the hands of tyrants? And what God, _what fucking God_, would make him hide such a large chunk of his life to get to heaven after all of this.

Because, God, Steve knew it was selfish but he wanted it. He couldn’t feel a God anymore, couldn’t decide if he _believed_ in a God anymore, but he was as scared of hell as any other faithful man. Steve wondered if he was already suffering it. But that would require faith he didn’t have.

Faith he didn’t have.

He waited. Waited for his mind to turn back and decide that this was too much, that this was the point where Steve knew he’d crossed a line. But it never came. His faith was lost in a sea of grey, next to his famous optimism and wilful stubbornness. They were still there, lingering beneath the surface, but they had faded to the point where Steve didn’t even know if he could grasp them anymore.

Taking in a shuddering breath, he cursed himself for lost time. Maybe he hadn’t left TJ because of his guilt but it was as much a factor as the drugs. This was as much him as TJ. They weren’t going to work out, not if both of them kept drawing away. But there wasn’t anything _wrong_ with them. No, they weren’t disgusting or inverts or queers or perverts. They were too men in love.

Because if Steve was going to lose a piece of himself, _maybe he didn’t want heaven._

Another tear fell and this one was hope. Even if there was hardly a scrap to hope for. So maybe he hadn’t lost a piece of himself; maybe this was Steve Rogers rebuilding after all.

Maybe _this_ was the beginning of his redemption.

**Wednesday, 25th December 2013**

Steve trudged into Avengers Tower with no veiled disappointment. He’d been really hoping for a quiet Christmas, maybe alone, maybe in bed, maybe asleep. But no, team building and all that. And look, Steve liked his teammates - in fact, he would have even called them friends now - but he just didn’t have the _energy_ to celebrate. Nor the faith.

He knew plenty of people didn’t celebrate Christmas anymore because they were actually Christian. Plenty of atheists celebrated the ‘holidays’ anyway but, at just one glance, the religious connotations were clear (at least to Steve). He’d grown up with the religion forefront. He’d gone to church and celebrated Jesus’ birth. There wasn’t a present to go around, meaning your saving grace could often be the church-provided meal, seeing as he and his ma couldn’t afford any better. Sometimes they’d go the Barnes’ but there were plenty of them in that house already, even if they were a little better off (at least they had a man providing for them).

Walking into the elevator, he took in deep breath, preparing himself for the onslaught. Since December had started, and he’d redacted his faith, he found that whatever he might have found to power him before was gone. He wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t have the energy for this. He’d solved one problem and hit another. This one so much darker.

Whilst before he may have not left his apartment, or had occasional days in bed, he’d usually done _something_. Lately, he couldn’t eat. He couldn’t shower. He could barely get out of bed to grab his sketchbook. And even if he did get that far, he would never draw in them. He was scared about what the team might see. Natasha, who was the most likely to come over to check on him, had spent the month in Eastern Europe, taking his unpacked furniture as a marker of his progress (even if it had taken him weeks longer than he had intended). He had been left free rein of his life. And now, he was gaunt. His cheeks sunken and his hair darker. He’d been lucky enough that he had the energy to even get in the shower this morning and been able to shave off his depression beard. But he couldn’t fix the black circles or red splotches.

The elevator came to a halt and as soon as the doors opened, he was greeted by Tony, loud and brash. “Cap! Long time no see! Thought you might have disappeared on us.” The rest of the team was already there, waiting impatiently for their last guest to arrive. Steve sighed, having hoped for a calmer introduction, but plastered a smile on his face and strode inside. “I’ve been busy,” he lied, taking his seat at the over-stuffed table. God, he hadn’t seen this much food in one place in…ever. His mind flashed back to the Christmas of 1934, when he’d been 16 years old; he’d had pneumonia that Christmas and his medical bills had meant that they couldn’t pay for rent, never mind food. Bucky had stayed with him that year. Had cared for him and given him a present with what little he had, despite knowing that Steve could never give something in return. Despite knowing that Steve mightn’t have even lived to January.

“How’s DC treating you?” Bruce asked from his spot beside the head of the table (Tony on one end, Steve at the other). “It’s been good. Less confusing. Never went to DC before.” Never left New York, either, unless you count the USO tours. So, well, guess he had been to DC before. But he hadn’t _seen_ it. Bruce nodded politely and looked at Tony expectantly, who suddenly clamoured “well, we’re all here now, aren’t we? Eat!” They dove in. Tony wasn’t going to stay for longer than an hour anymore so they made conversation whilst they could.

Steve didn’t, for the most part. Despite sitting at the head of the table, a discomfort in itself, he wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter. He didn’t want to have to admit that he’d barely left his house, never-mind had something to be busy with. He’d had two missions, both simple and barely necessitating Captain America’s involvement. Neither were conversation-worthy.

But it didn’t matter. Steve wasn’t in the mood. In fact, he’d rather sit in the corner and just watch them from afar, maybe get his sketchbook out and draw them. They looked happy, all of them, they really did and Steve didn’t spite them for that, he _liked_ that but he couldn’t take the pressure of being that too. He wanted to revel in their joy and not feel pressured to feel his own.

It was only three plates in when Natasha finally spoke up. “Steve, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he smiled, putting on his best facade. But Natasha was the best spy known to this planet; she wasn’t going to be fooled. However, before she could delve any further, Tony started his own spiel.

“Of course you would be. You have a boy toy now, right? Bet he’s hot. If he’s going out with Captain America, he’d definitely hot. Brunet? Two blonds would be weird. Does he look like Carter? I bet he looks like Carter. Brown hair, brown eyes, big lips. Yeah, I can see that-“

“Tony,” Steve cut off bluntly, voice deep, power inescapable.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“Steve hasn’t been with anyone in months, Tony,” Natasha sighed, knowing Steve wouldn’t spite her for giving the news if it would just make Tony shut up.

“Oh.” Tony paused. “Does that mean you’ll finally see Carter and get back with her?”

“Tony!” Natasha called out protectively. Steve almost reeled. He’d never seen her like this before. “Shut up for a goddamn second, okay? Steve, are you okay?” She asked, turning to him. Steve shrugged and dropped his fork. The mention of Carter had finally done what he’d hoped wouldn’t happen tonight; his facade had broken. Shoving his chair back hurriedly, he hoarsely croaked “I’ve got to go,” and tried to rush away but Natasha was quicker. “Steve! Don’t go. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Why not?” He spat, temper rising.

“I know full well what you’ve been doing the last month and you sure as hell shouldn’t keep going like that.”

Steve turned red as anger flashed over his eyes. “You have my apartment bugged?”

“One camera. I needed to check in.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?!”

“You wouldn’t have let me, Steve! Ever since you two broke up, you’ve been depressed. I know you don’t believe that but you _are_.” Although her voice was raised, her tone was as controlled as ever. “You’ve barely left your bed in a month.”

“You put _cameras_ in my house?”

“You won’t face what’s happening to you.”

“Natasha-“ Clint tried to cut in but Natasha just raised a hand, stopping him. Despite the fragility of this team, they were her family now, she wasn’t going to let one of them fall apart on her watch. “What happened between you two?” She asked Steve. “Something’s changed.”

“Nothing’s changed.”

“What did he do?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me!”

“Fine! You want to know what happened! TJ chose drugs over me! Shouldn’t even be surprised. I looked him up, you know, even though he told me not to. After it all, anyway, but- I should have known! He’s the media’s favourite scapegoat for drug overdoses and booze. And he chose that,” Steve spat, eyes frantically wide, fists clenched like they might punch something. Fuck, he wanted to punch something. Why couldn’t he punch his way through all his problems? He was good at that.

“Oh Steve,” Natasha sighed and before he knew it, she’d wrapped him in a hug. He was still facing the room, where everyone - even Thor - was watching Natasha like she was possessed. Steve’s eyes watered but he wouldn’t let any spill; from Natasha, this was a lot, this was more than a lot. “I’m fine,” he whispered, a last ditch attempt.

“You shouldn’t have to handle this alone,” she whispered back, lips by Steve’s ear, a complete disregard of his words. He sighed and shut his eyes, trying to push down his feelings as she drew away. Turning like nothing had happened, she asked “who wants to watch a Christmas movie?” It must have been the hug, or maybe just her, but somehow she got everyone - including Tony, who was already fidgeting - to gather in the common room to watch Elf of all films. Steve was the only one who hadn’t seen it before (apparently Thor had been shown it by a woman named Darcy, who claimed it was her generation’s cinematic masterpiece even though it was neither her generation nor a masterpiece) but it did tickle laughs from him, which got a few of his friends (yes, friends) giving him gentle smiles. It was only when the credits were rolling that anyone (Tony) dared finally pipe up again. “So…TJ? As in, TJ Hammond?” It was surprisingly tactful on Tony’s scale and Steve only sighed (rather than punch him).

“Yeah. That TJ.”

“So I was right with brunette.”

“Tony-“ Nat tried.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” Steve cut her off. It was true. He really didn’t mind. Tony said a lot and Steve had learnt to be selective. If he wanted to talk about TJ, Steve didn’t mind. It still hurt, a lot, but there was something therapeutic about thinking about TJ.

So, okay, is was possible Steve wasn’t really over him.

“Not with brown eyes, though,” Tony continued over them like he didn’t even hear them. “I’m surprised. Though…no, wait. Isn’t he like a Bucky Barnes lookalike? Please say there’s more to that story!”

“There was nothing between me and Bucky,” Steve shot back quickly, so used to saying it that it felt like the preferred response, even if he did have the switch the tense.

“But TJ…”

“Yes, they look alike.” That’s why I first noticed him, Steve didn’t add. Because even if he and Bucky had never been a thing, it hadn’t stopped Steve from wanting it. But Bucky wasn’t queer so… “But that only led us to be friends. I wouldn’t date Bucky. He’s my…he was my best friend.” And his death still felt fresh on his mind. It didn’t hurt so much anymore but he thought about him a lot when he stared at the white walls of his bedroom. He wondered what would have happened if he chose Bucky over Peggy. Peggy was the love of his life but Bucky…Bucky was always there.

Both of them, at least, had seen him for who he was before the Serum.

Steve normally dismissed the thoughts. Bucky would have socked him in the jaw if he’d even gotten close to professing his love.

The mistake wasn’t worth the plethora of sad looks that were shared between the team, all pitying and… “stop. I don’t want to hear it.”

“If you still need to grieve-“

“No, Natasha. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fine.” Steve almost ran out the room. “But I was telling the truth earlier. You’re depressed. I think you need professional help.” Steve looked at her, eyebrow raised, lips in a thin line.

“I’m not going to do that speaking thing.”

“Therapy?”

“I’m not going to. I can do it myself. I’ll…I’ll get better. I’ll give myself more to do.”

“Distraction isn’t going to help-“

“No. I’m just being lazy. There’s no excuse for that. I’m just gonna-“

“Steve, it’s not laziness-“

“Just let me do this my way first. I mean it, I’ll get better. And anyway, we should stop talking about me. It’s Christmas. We should be celebrating.”

“Hoorah to Jesus!” Tony called obnoxiously. Steve winced. No one noticed; Thor had already begun telling a story about Asgard’s Winter Solstice.

**Thursday, 26th December 2013**

Boxing Day had Steve being called from the Tower at 3 in the morning. The only other person up, as he zipped up his bag and went to shove a few cereal bars into his pack, was Tony, looking dazed as he watched the news scroll listlessly in front of him. “Tony?” Steve called, approaching the man from behind. Like he was prepared for an attack, Tony shot up, switching to face Steve, face sweaty and eyes wide. Slowly, he let out a tense breath and cowered, like he didn’t want Steve to see him like this.

“Sleeping for seventy years really did let you catch up, didn’t it, Cap?” Tony quipped, a bead of sweat pooling above his brow.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine! Fine!” Tony shouted, a little too loudly, swiping a twitching hand through his hair. “Everything’s fine. Really. Just didn’t want to sleep anymore. Sleep’s boring, you know. There’s so much to do and so little time so why sleep when you-“

“Tony,” Steve interrupted. “I know that we don’t always see eye to eye but you don’t have to lie to me. Despite everything, I do see us as friends.”

Tony barked a laugh. “Always so sincere, Cap. Don’t worry about me.”

“Already am,” Steve returned, trying to push past the impenetrable barriers of Tony Stark’s Emotional Fortress. Tony just sighed. “I’m _fine_,” he reiterated, a little more serious. “Just a few sleeping issues. Just because you got your little heart to heart with Romanoff yesterday, doesn’t mean I need one. The times for Christmas miracles has passed, anyway.” Steve didn’t have anything left to say so silently, he nodded and rifled through the fridge as Tony collapsed back onto the sofa and continued to watch the news reels.

There wasn’t anything Steve could do about it now.

And anyway, he had a job to do. An urgent one, from the sounds of it. Acts of terrorism were suddenly piling up all at once and SHIELD had their eyes in too many places. It was a surprise they hadn’t hit on Christmas Day when SHIELD would have taken longer to come after them but Steve could only presume they wanted maximum casualties. They couldn’t do that if most people were in their houses. Boxing Day, however, that was apparently going to do just fine.

They’d hit at least five minor cities simultaneously worldwide. England, the US, two locations in North Africa and another in Japan. The acts were not yet linked but they were lining up too perfectly to be coincidence. Steve, still being in the US, was deployed in Greenville, the Quinjet landing in the rural woodlands, only a couple miles from where the first bomb had gone off (a small explosion; a warning). The initial response had already hit and it was time to catch the fleeing terrorists before they could fall out of SHIELD’s hands. Steve, for the most part, was going to be used for his speed. He could run at the speed of a motorcycle, with little to no noise; they wouldn’t even know he was coming.

With how far they’d landed out, they coordinated to go inwards, hoping to intercept their paths. They already had strong intel that they weren’t trying to take transport from the city so they most likely had an outpost in the woods where they would hide or have stashed vehicles. The quinjet was only there to drop them off before flying overhead to scan for possible targets.

Steve breathed in and then out, motioning for his team (predominantly senior agents but none that he knew that well) to split up, all on foot, and start the search. He let go, allowing himself on the single-minded focus of a solider. No spare thoughts, nothing to plague him, only the burning in his muscles as he pushed himself to the limits, searching the woodlands at the pace of the Quinjet’s scanner. It was only luck that he was the one to find the team.

Or, well, it wasn’t luck at all.

Holding up his shield, he warned them cautiously “surrender now and you won’t be harmed.” Scanning over them as quickly as he could, he marked nine hostiles, all in black tac gear, with a red badge on their chest pockets - a covered symbol (they were trying to cover who they were working for whilst still identifying themselves as part of a cause, he thought). They stared at him, not letting down their guns for a second. It was all of five seconds before the front man shouted “we have him!”. Before Steve could even begin to comprehend what was happening, a switch had been pressed and they were dissolving in a flash of blue light. Then they reappeared…in the town. Steve tried to stand but his breath was going; he felt like he was inhaling smoke and his body was contorted, like he’d had full-body cramps. His eyes darted around him. Of the nine men, seven were ripped to shreds. Body parts having moved at different times, meaning whole limbs had been disjointed from bodies. On some of the men, it was like some of the atoms had just dissipated, leaving them half evaporated, guts spilling from their sides. Blood red stains seeped into the tarmac as grey brain tissue slopped helplessly on the ground.

But there were still two left, both trying to stand up, even if one had a severely broken leg and the other two non-functioning arms. This was the consequence of early teleportation. Clearly not fit for use (which was no surprise, or else SHIELD would have been using it already). It seemed Steve had only survived because that was what his body did: by now he should have known he was practically indestructible.

Steve tried to gather his wits, figure out what their plan was. What was the point of bringing him back into town? Especially, what was the point of bringing themselves back when they were surrounded by SHIELD…

No.

They weren’t. SHIELD weren’t here. They were looking for them. And they weren’t going to know they’d returned because it would look like they’d just vanished off the face of the earth. The Quinjet would find no base because there wasn’t one. His team wouldn’t arrive for hours yet, not at their speed. Any electronic equipment he had on him was just as battered as the rest of the hostiles. Only his shield was intact; even his armour was torn to shreds, covering barely half his body. His cowl was missing completely.

“What do you want?” He spat, standing stronger on his feet than the other two, who watched him with grim smiles. They stumbled backwards and Steve hastily collected his shield, warily eyeing the nearby area. Suspicion plagued him as they continued to inch backwards, body’s like melted puppets as they fled into the warehouse. Steve followed and their grins grew, almost collapsing half their faces. Their silence was prolonged, perpetuating the surreality of this damn mission. Something was wrong.

As they finally collapsed past the door, Steve could suddenly see the faces of a dozen or more terrified workers, all trapped inside. Something was wrong. Steve readied his shield for a throw. Something was wrong.

“You know, Cap, I think you’ll want you watch this. And to go down in the flames too.” Suddenly, the man was pressing another button and hellfire rained down. The two bombs set off earlier were nothing in comparison to this. Three buildings crumbled; another one was in a blaze. The attention would have drawn SHIELD but not in time. Because Steve’s building was crumbling too. Right on top of them. This was a suicide mission, he realised. The men knew they were going to die, they just wanted Steve to be taken down with them. Finally, he gained perspective. There were workers all around him, watching in fear as the ceiling collapsed. It was clear that Captain America couldn’t save them now. They must have held out hope, that’s why none of them had taken the bombers down, they thought Captain America would do it. Or maybe it was the shock.

Either way, Steve knew who’s fault this was. It was his. He could have got to the men before they’d been able to stand, he could have stripped them of their weaponry, even just to make sure there were no more teleportation tricks left.

But Steve didn’t have to time to think about that. He had to save these people. “Get out!” He screamed, urging the people nearest to the large doors first, seeing at least five people flee, leaving what was about twenty civilians inside the building.

Only half the roof had caved in so far, leaving him what he suspected to be about three minutes to get all…eighteen civilians out. “Get to the front door!” He shouted louder, trying to spur the people in shock into action. With his SHIELD, he barged through the barriers, trying to clear a path, finding spaces where rubble had trapped people into inescapable corners.

Three out. Around two minutes to go.

Fifteen civilians left. Steve continued to batter his way through obstacles but there was only so much he could do before his bruised body finally gave up. The super serum may have made him them most evolved human on the planet but that didn’t mean he was untouchable: he had limits. Ones that he’d hit.

Another seven out. He was panting. Eight civilians left. And the roof was caving in. His legs, weakly still standing, couldn’t hold any longer as the rubble descended on him, shield raised above his head to try and protect him from the onslaught of concrete. Without his shield, he would be dead.

Steve remained their for two hours before the SHIELD rescue operation arrived. He was pulled from the rubble, choking on the thick clouds of dust and tried to see anyone else being pulled out. There was: eight bodies, all limp and lifeless.

No civilians left.

Steve had failed.

It wasn’t anything new.


	8. friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song: Friends - Chase Atlantic

** Thursday, 9th January 2014 **

TJ didn’t know what time it was, never mind that it was a _bad_ time. Later, he would recall his idiocy with a line and a bottle even if the fact that the timing was bad was neither his fault nor the other person in question. It was a matter of coincidence and due to the fact that _apparently_ after a breakup, moving closer to your ex was a good fucking decision. TJ wasn’t mad at him _at all_ for that.

Well, in his right mind he actually wouldn’t be but he was as irascible as a feral cat right now so there was no room for leniency.

The high was breaking as he stumbled out the guy’s door - hot, he could admit, but a little too starry eyed - and onto the DC streets, somewhere Downtown (which didn’t narrow it down much, that was a pretty large area). His head was pounding and his mouth was a little dry but that would be a problem for later, when he was regretting all his life choices in his mother’s living room, listening to another low-key intervention. She didn’t even _know_ he was using, she was just a little suspicious. He hadn’t let the media storm catch onto his downward spiral yet - that was for when things got truly out of control - but it took less than that to worry his mother, even if this was the first time she’d ever (even in the slightest capacity) tried to do something about it before he’d done something, well, _bad_.

She was less busy than usual (though, that still meant she was busier than the average person, not that TJ would ever acknowledge that), meaning she seemed to have enough free time to bug him.

TJ finally gained his wits enough to look at the horizon, where the sun was just peeking up, and sighed. Well, there were worse things to do than sleep during the day. Slowly, he trudged down the streets, wishing he’d worn more than just a t-shirt and jeans. And that was, unfortunately, how the first of two run ins began with none other than Steve Rogers.

*

It had been over a week since Steve’s last, disastrous mission. He’d had enough time to aggressively scrape the blood from his mind, even if it was still on his hands. It didn’t help that he found out that the other cities had been decoys, simply to draw SHIELD agents away from him, leaving him vulnerable to attack. It didn’t help that those decoys still killed people. And, after all that, it had meant his efforts at doing better had been thwarted. He’d spent a week in bed, staring numbly at the walls and imagining his own blood on them, like he had been killed to. He saw his own dead body and he shuddered but didn’t shove the image away. He would fixate on it like his own sacrifice might make it worth the deaths of others. He wasn’t sure if it would. But, the week had gone by and he knew he couldn’t keep it up. He was going to try and get better, he really was and later was better than never. So, on this bitterly cold January morning (barely even a degree above zero), with only a jumper to cover his cold skin, he had deemed that he would do daily morning runs. It was better than waking from the nightmares and just sitting there. This was distracting. It helped. _Look, Natasha, I’m doing it._

Admittedly, Natasha wouldn’t know anymore, seeing as he took the camera out of his apartment. He’d only forgiven her because she proved to him that it only showed the living room and a small portion of the bed where Natasha had said she’d seen his feet and nothing more. Still an intrusion of his privacy but it wasn’t like she had put cameras in the bathroom and at this point, he didn’t know what to do about Natasha (she was scarier than Peggy) so he just let her do her things. Even if he did repeatedly take down the cameras, having learnt what they look like after spotting the unremarkable black dots in the vertices of the walls and ceilings.

He was almost home, maybe around two blocks away, when he saw a figure stumbling out onto the street. For a moment, he thought he’d seen a parallel sight (double vision…no triple vision). He saw…

Saw Bucky stumbling from the bar at one in the goddamn morning, whilst Steve stood there, having been looking for over an hour because his sister had turned up to their door soaking when she’d said that their father had taken a fall.

Then TJ, on the side of the road, stumbling as he follow Steve to a hotel, eyes as red as the blood under Steve’s fingernails and heart as torn up as Steve’s faith.

And this picture. TJ, again, stumbling from a house, eyes as red as a children’s crayon and powder under his nose like icing sugar, 15 weeks, 5 days and 22 hours since they broke up. “Steve!” He called out when Steve approached him, looking like he was somewhere between laughing and crying. “Of course you’re here.”

“Hi, Tee- TJ.” An awkward silence descended as TJ contemplated bringing up Steve’s old nickname for him (though it was far from original and his family had been using it for years). He wouldn’t have minded Steve still saying it. He wouldn’t have minded talking to Steve at all. Things hadn’t exactly ended on TJ’s terms; if he had the choice, Steve would be right back in his arms. But, Steve wasn’t going to do that because Steve was disappointed in him. It was so goddamn obvious. His eyebrows had creased and his eyes had gotten wide and it was like the blue shone just a bit brighter. He was goddamn beautiful like this-

He sighed.

“How are you?” Steve tried, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, unable to just walk away (like he knew he should have).

“I’m good. I’ve been…” Not getting clean, not like you wanted me to. But it’s been sex, drugs and rock & roll and ain’t that cool? “About.”

“That’s…that’s good.”

“You?”

“The usual. Missions.” Laying in bed, staring at walls, having friends stage interventions for a disability you don’t believe you’re capable of having. Or they called it a mental health issue now. Steve got why. Kind of.

“Been beating the bad guys?” Been being better than I could ever be?

“Sure.” No.

“That’s good.” I wished this was like it used to be.

“Yeah.” I don’t know what to say but I don’t want to leave; I don’t want you to be out of my life.

“I’ll see you around.” I can’t take this.

“See you.” Please don’t go.

TJ turned to go but Steve suddenly called out. “Are you alright? Really?” I’ve heard things, he didn’t add. I’ve heard about what you’ve really been doing.

“Of course. Never been better.” Except for when I was with you.

** Saturday, 25th January 2014 **

It had been 18 weeks, 1 day and 1 hour since Steve had broken up with TJ. It had been 18 weeks, 1 day and half an hour since TJ had felt whole. There had been at least half an hour, he was sure of it, where Steve hadn’t left at all. He’d been so sure that he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, but who was he kidding. TJ was TJ and Steve was Steve, he was always going to leave. He’d even _told_ himself that, he’d told himself where Steve’s priorities lay and he still just didn’t get it. Logistically, he knew why Steve had left. His addiction was bad; objectively, he understood that. But, he didn’t understand why Steve wouldn’t help. He’d gone clean for him, he should have been grateful for that and it had only taken a slip up (or a few) for Steve to give up, just like his family had.

He missed him, though. A lot.

But that didn’t matter in the end. Not when his mum had a plan, one that would lead him back to Steve. Still, when he heard his mother’s plan, he was anything but for it. “I can’t,” he hissed, practically pleading for some platitude that let him off the hook. Something like “okay, I know you’re stressed, so you can be let off just this once” but no, of course not, this was his _mother_ he was talking about. Of course fucking not.

“Why not? If you won’t tell me then I don’t have a reason to un-invite you. This is a dinner party, at our house, with our family and the Avengers.”

“Why?! Why couldn’t you just have a meeting like a _normal_ Secretary of State!”

“They don’t trust easy, TJ. There’s rumours that Ross might take my place soon and they hate that man and if they even affiliate my position with him then I’m on the losing foot.”

“It’s not like you’re new, though! They know you.”

“Captain Rogers is your friend, he must know I’m your mother, how well does he know me?” TJ didn’t answer, though it wasn’t for the reason she thought. “Exactly. So we’re doing this and if I bring my family, it doesn’t seem as forced. I don’t want them to think of me as the bad guy. They work outside the government but they still work under our laws and I still need to make sure that they are.”

“Sounds like a meeting to me.”

“TJ,” she chastised, settling him with a hard glare. He sighed, rolled his eyes and huffed “fine” before adding “but if you make me talk politics with them, I’m leaving.” Fuck, he wasn’t going to get through this sober.

And if his mother heard him mutter “but just you wait, mum, bringing me is going to be the worst decision you could have ever made“ on his way out, she didn’t mention it.

*

The Avengers sat on one side, Elaine’s family on the other. Elaine sat at one head of the table and Steve the other. Still, he only had eyes for one person. It had been 18 weeks, 1 day and 8 hours since they’d broken up but only now did he feel the sudden weight of guilt on his chest. On his right, Natasha glared balefully at TJ, not even bothering with a smile. On his left, Tony kept leaning around Clint to try and get a glimpse of TJ and then kept whispering every single similarity he had to a certain late Howling Commando in Steve’s ear, meaning Steve spent most his time trying to shut him up. Clint, meanwhile, was scarfing down the food like it was his last, leaving Thor to awkwardly talk politics (Bruce hadn’t shown, he said he would only make them nervous), even though Earth law was pretty much the only thing he’d never been taught in and, if Loki had claimed his grades in Law were bad enough, whatever grade he’d get in Midgardian law would be lower. Elaine still powered through, looking like the powerful woman she was, whilst Bud scoffed and groaned and Doug stared like Thor might just be a God walking on Earth (oh wait).

TJ was the only one making no attempts at anything, staring down at his plate like it could swallow him whole. Even Anne was making small talk with Clint every time he came up for breath.

It only took about ten minutes, though, for Tony to pipe up. And, of course, he spoke straight to TJ. “So, TJ, or is it Teej? I heard some people call you Teej,” Tony barrelled on without an answer, “what do you think of our Captain here tonight. I hear you’re pretty good _friends_.”

“Tony,” Steve hissed, gripping his fork tightly, watching the metal bend to the curve of his hand.

“Uh-uh, Cap, I want to hear about your friend.” TJ just stared, eyes as wide as they were bloodshot, and took his wine glass and drank it in one large gulp. “TJ,” it was Elaine’s time to warn. All she got in response was a “what?”, a cocky eyebrow and another poured drink.

“You’re staying pretty silent over there, Bucky-boy.”

“Don’t call me Bucky.”

“Ooh, sore spot. I see.”

“Really?” Clint interrupted, trying to stop Tony before he went to far.

“Nope. I want to know why he doesn’t like being called Bucky. Was it a _bed-_”

“Tony!” Steve shouted, jamming his knife into the table. “If you don’t shut up right now, you’re leaving. And that’s an order.” Tony looked momentarily spooked but kept his composure as he shrugged and collapsed back into his chair. “Whatever you say,” he huffed, folding his arms. TJ just looked down at his plate as Steve’s blood boiled.

He trusted the Avengers to have his side but the Hammonds? Less so. Even if he knew they wouldn’t care about his sexuality, they’d supported their son after all (or, well, Elaine had, and Doug, Bud was a complicated man). But they could still use it as leverage and in politics, it only took one thing to send someone’s image to the gutter.

Elaine, keeping up the professional act that she was so well known for, ignored the side step and decided to finally address the room. “I think you all know why you are gathered here but I think it’s time to start the real discussions.”

“And you said it wasn’t a meeting,” TJ muttered, gulping down another glass. Steve’s eyes bored into the side of his face. They didn’t leave.

“We need to talk about the rapid growth of the terror industry and the link between superheroes and this exponential growth. I am not one of those in support of disbanding the Avengers but I do want to tackle the problem and for that I will need your help.” Steve watched TJ pour another glass.

“We understand. We’ll do our best to work with you,” Clint said before Elaine could call Steve out on his distracted gaze.

“It’s much appreciated,” she said, smiling a politician’s smile. Rule Number 1: never say what you really mean.

The dinner went smoother from then on. With a topic to discuss, and the attention drawn away from TJ, they could all finally contribute and Steve could feel like he was actually doing something rather than wasting his time making small talk with politicians he’d rather not meet.

He wondered how different the scenario would be if he and TJ were still together.

It was only once dessert had been served and eaten that TJ pushed his chair back, in the midst of Natasha’s interrogation of the methods of superhero evaluation and the offered ‘permits’ that could be given out, with a loud squawk.

“I’mgonnagotothebathroom,” he mumbled into the sudden silence. Steve, in a fit of spontaneity (ones that he was apparently prone to), stood up as well, addressing the table with an enigmatic “I have to excuse myself a moment,” before striding out of the room, hoping TJ wouldn’t sit back down and follow him out instead. Steve was glad, but not all that surprised, when TJ met him out in the blandly-modern hallway. “I’m sorry about them,” Steve started.

“Oooh, an apology,” TJ cajoled, “that’s new.” Steve just rolled his eyes and powered forward; it wasn’t like TJ was in his right mind anyway and Steve didn’t know how much of him he could trust. “I just didn’t want you running away because of me. Look, I know we didn’t end on good terms but I don’t hate you, far from it, so I don’t want it to be like this between us.”

“Your team seem to hate me so they must have heard something.”

Steve paused for a moment, pinched his nose, and decided to tell the truth. “All they found out was about the breakup and who you were. They filled in a lot of gaps without me saying anything.”

TJ huffed a laugh. “Of course,” he muttered. It wasn’t anything new. Steve was one of the first people to have met TJ before they’d met the gossip rags, not many people were going to be as oblivious. He’d gotten lucky. And then he’d fucked it up again. “So you didn’t tell them all my dirty little secrets?”

“They’re not really secrets. But of course I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t betray your trust like that.” Like you betrayed mine. “I want us to be able to be friends. We even live in the same city now, I don’t want every one of these run-ins to be horrible.”

TJ sighed. “I guess not.” His eyes grew grim and distant, like he was lost in himself for a moment before he pulled himself back to reality, unsure if Steve had started speaking or not. “Thanks for this. Good to clear things up.”

“Of course. I’m on your side, TJ.”

TJ huffed another self-deprecating laugh. “Not a bad deal to have.” A moment passed. “But I’m not going back in there for as long as possible. The Black Widow gives me the heeji-beejies.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that’s said.”

“Eh, you get my point.”

Steve smiled. “I do.” For a moment, it felt just like it had back then. TJ and Steve’s eyes were caught on each other’s, their lips tugged up into lazy smiles and their minds riding on the waves of contentment. “It was nice talking,” Steve finished with, nodding his head and heading back into the fray whilst TJ inched his way to the toilet and remained in there for was as long as was humanly acceptable.

He didn’t do a line.

When he caught eyes with Steve, he knew that Steve saw it. He hadn’t felt this warm in 18 weeks. And like a sudden burst of flame, he knew what he wanted, what he needed. To go clean, to smile again, to get back that happiness.

He just needed Steve.


	9. fools in our lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song: FOOLS - Troye Sivan / Lies - MARINA (I think XD)

**Tuesday, 4th February 2014**

Steve watched the crowd with a detachment he’d learnt from the repetitive cycle of charity balls that bombarded him. All for good causes, of course, but boring nonetheless. He’d finally found out how to donate large sums of his money to trusted places. He’d met with the company leaders and had even worked with a few of them and with that, he felt a little better by his lack of interest towards any of the events. They still felt like another duty to add to his pile (though god knows he wasn’t really doing much else) and there were still an onslaught of sycophantic socialites that fawned over him but he now got to network and meet people that genuinely peaked his interest. Not the politicians, or the celebrities, but the organisers and volunteers.

Tonight was in honour of the Salvation Army, a charity he’d known since he was born and had since learnt had started almost 40 years before he was born, in 1880. Although, what he was most familiar with was the New York headquarters, built in 1930, and the very building they were standing in now. His mother, when travelling far from Brooklyn, had been granted space in the residence hotel there, one specifically for working women. She had drawn the grand halls for him to fawn over as a young art student, even as poor as they were. From then, he’d owed the charity a piece of his history, making them the first to receive a Captain America donation.

The lights were dim but glistening as people mingled in the hall, devoid of dancing but not music. Couples filled the room for the most part, setting Steve apart for being one of the few single men and women in the crowd. He knew TJ was here tonight but he wasn’t going to find him and he certainly wasn’t going to act like they were together. Steve looked at the small clock in the corner and sighed, he had plenty of time to go.

Brushing his hands against his suit (tailored of course), he sucked up the courage to walk through the crowd, losing himself to the noise and clamour of the party until he came upon someone that he could start up a conversation with. He no longer flinched as shoulders pushed past him but still managed a full body shudder when he heard the click of a flip phone in the distance, unable to put together what the noise reminded him of (either way, he learnt to hate it). Nevertheless, he avoided people’s paths but kept his gaze up as his introverted nature tried to push his head down. It didn’t matter anyway, his height and stature did enough to draw attention.

This time, Steve had no art to distract him but that didn’t stop a woman from trying to come up to him, slyly placing her hand on his bicep and giving him a salacious smile. “Hiya,” she whispered, peering up at him coyly beneath thick, black eyelashes.

“Hi. I’m sorry, I’d really like to talk but I’m looking for someone.”

“I’ll come with y-“

“Sorry,” but I’m really good at pushing you all away now, “it’s a private matter.”

“Oh, of course. Must be something real important. Good luck, Captain.”

“Thank you,” he replied courteously and blended back into the crowd, finding himself drawing closer and closer to the bar. His patience was wearing thin. When he looked at the clock again, only about ten minutes had passed. He sighed, listening as one song came to an end and another began, and found a standing spot next to the small, removable bar in the corner of the room. He paid for his drink and leaned against the wall, sipping at a small glass of port when he came.

Steve should have known.

*

TJ’s rendezvous in bathrooms were anything but glamorous. Except, this time, there was no white fairy-dust in the air or an inflamed nose in the mirror. This time, it was just plain old TJ staring in the mirror, face set and determined, his hair perfectly gelled and styled, his eyes just a little bit less blackened than usual, a tad of concealer trying to hide the dark circles. He was fucking tired but he wouldn’t let himself take his fix. Not that he even had one on him, too tempting.

It was time now. He’d seen Steve heading in the direction of the bar, this was his time to strike. Just like the first time. All it would take was a few tweaks of the original events and they’d be as good as new and he’d be happy again and he’d be in love and his problems would stop being such a bitch to put up with.

So he could survive this! Without a fix in his system. He still had the buzz of adrenaline to get through the next 30 minutes or so of persuasion, rhetoric and maybe even a little of something else. Exactly his kind of scene. The door squawked open and a man in a tired looking suit went to one of the urinals, signalling TJ’s time to get out, hurrying out with a guilty smile on his face and gleeful skip in his step.

Buzzing, he pushed through the crowds, ignoring the illustrious celebrities dotted around the room. Quickly glancing at his own suit, checking he was looking his best, he patted the creases down and let himself think _damn_, he was looking good. Black suit-blue tie combination would never fail him.

Slowly but surely, he strutted to the bar, calling for a water, waiting patiently before guzzling it down and sucking up the courage to inch over to the corner, where Steve had safely tucked himself away. With as little surety as was probably possible for a man so set in his purpose, TJ headed to Steve and gently knocked their shoulders together, trying to recreate some mimicry of their first meeting, for nostalgia perhaps. For a moment before Steve turned, TJ had the chance to appreciate the view because _fuck, this man was as fine as the day they met_. He hadn’t aged a day.

For a moment, TJ wondered how long Steve could live for.

For a moment, TJ deluded himself into thinking he could live for just as long.

“TJ?”

“Hey, Steve,” TJ smiled, happy to hear even the simplest of titles on Steve’s lips. The smile fell, though, when TJ did his best to put his most worried face on. “I- I wanted to talk. About things. Could we go somewhere more private?” Steve, in a moment of paranoia, glanced around to see whose eyes were following them and when he noticed that no one seemed to even have a good view of their corner, he acquiesced with a nod and followed a relieved TJ from the room. And, of course, as it was every time, into the bathroom.

“Is this really that private?” Steve asked, thinking of the thousand of corridors they could have tucked themselves away in.

“Well, probably, but I like- I think here is good.”

“Okay? So, what is it?”

“Well, I wanted to maybe think about…getting back together?” TJ’s confidence suddenly disappeared and as much conviction as he could muster just wasn’t enough. The declarative turned question did nothing but perpetuate the slow realisation that this just wasn’t going to work.

Suddenly, Steve took a step back, almost flabbergasted. “You want to…get back together?” Steve stared him up and down, scrounging for a secret that wasn’t there. What did TJ want? Why now?

TJ’s face fell.

“I miss you. A lot. We were better together.”

“I broke it off for a reas-“

“I’m sober and clean! I promise. Admittedly, only a week now, pretty much since after the dinner but it’s going really well. I haven’t thought about it. And I did it for you. I really, really, really like you and I’m not going to let my fucked up addiction get in the way of that,” he said resolutely, putting in any fucked-up argument he could. If it was for Steve then Steve couldn’t leave because then it was _his_ fault, not TJ’s. And maybe TJ hadn’t exactly thought that out, his intentions weren’t _that_ selfish, but the reasoning lay there, another perk on top of the other pile of goodies.

Nothing could go wrong.

“TJ, I’m not sure if I can-“

“These last few months have been shit. You have to agree to an extent. I don’t know what’s going on in your life but mine was better with you.”

Steve sighed. “I do agree. But, look, I’m struggling with my own problems right now-“

“And I can help! Whatever it is, I’m sure I can help. I want to. Whatever you’re going through.” But of course he would never ask what that was. “I _really_ like you, Steve. I…I think I may love you. I’m sober for you. And I want to be with you. Can’t we just have one more chance?”

“You…love me?” Steve didn’t know what to say, his mind had blanked out. The vacancy that had festered in his heart for the last few months seem to clear, or be pushed to the sides. It was there, he was sure, but it wasn’t _there_. It wasn’t actively present, it wasn’t pressing down on him until he felt paralysed by it. He was loved. He’d been alone and now he was loved. How could he say no? Especially when TJ had gone to such lengths.

“You’ll stay sober?”

“Of course. If it means having you.” Steve heart warmed. All along he’d thought TJ had chosen drugs over him but here he was switching that on its head.

“You have to know,” Steve sighed, not letting himself give in just yet, “that this won’t make me come out. I’m still not ready for that.”

“Of course. You’ve got your own stuff to get over. That’s cool. It can be super-duper secret.” Steve smiled and laughed through his nose.

“I think that means this is another chance.”

“Yet again.”

“And hopefully we won’t need another.”

If only TJ hadn’t just potentially blackmailed Captain America into a relationship.

If only Steve’s depression didn’t blind-sight him to the big picture.

If only TJ’s addiction didn’t manipulate his mind into manipulating others.

If only their relationship was, or had ever been, built on trust and honesty.

Because right now, it was built on deception and loneliness and soon enough, the foundations were going to crumble it and with it, the castle.

For now, Steve smiled.


	10. begin again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song: begin again - Purity Ring

** Wednesday, 12th February 2014 **

It took an embarrassingly short time for them to fall back into old patterns. And now, living in the same city, it seemed like they could no longer be apart. Maybe it was insecurity, or the fear that it was all going to fall apart again, but neither seemed willing to part from each other. Steve, for the most part, spent most his time at TJ’s. Even if he was known for his flashy suit and catchy theme song, the predominant part of his work was stealth and spy work and even if he wasn’t the secret-keeper, he certainly knew how to go undercover.

TJ didn’t seem to mind and it at least got Steve out the house, even if it meant TJ barely did himself. It was probably for the best, though. He was actively trying to stay clean (as well as sober) and that meant no bars, no clubs and definitely no parties.

Steve was helping however he could. He tried to keep TJ’s mind busy, even if he was still cowardly to leave the house. They’d played at least eight games of Risk, which Steve won every time, and three games of Monopoly, which TJ had won two of and Steve only won the last by a fluke. That meant, by the time a week had passed, they’d played around forty-one hours of board games. If there were eight-four waking hours in a week, though that was a little bit of an under-estimation, they’d spend almost half their waking hours on board games. Still, TJ seemed to have an untapped competitive streak when it came to Steve.

Only Steve, of course, being competitive against his family was like _asking_ to lose and whilst Steve was by no means a gracious loser, he was more willing to not punch TJ in order to win. Not that any of his family members would do that…probably…god, he really didn’t know anymore. They’d stopped playing board games when he was about six.

Apart from the board games, they’d watched a few episodes of a few different TV shows, watched them again because they hadn’t been paying attention the first time and then filled the rest of their time with the menial tasks of everyday life. TJ had taken over the cooking, Steve the cleaning, and TJ had finally found himself something that he actually, genuinely enjoyed. He didn’t know how he hadn’t realised it before. There was something therapeutic about being faced with a bunch of uncooked ingredients and making them into a fully fledged meals. Already, over the week, he’d gone from basics to exploration, making newer and weirder dishes for Steve to try (who would eat goddamn anything he was given and not leave any scraps but still complain endlessly if it was bad).

On Wednesday night, they were finally at Steve’s house. He had a debrief early in the morning and with his apartment closer, he wouldn’t have to get up as early if they just stayed at his. TJ was careful and whatever Steve seemed to think, he wasn’t as bad at blending in as Steve thought. He could avoid the press when he wanted to, it was just in certain…instances that he no longer cared. Steve could probably figure it out if he really thought about it; TJ wasn’t going to tell him that, though. And anyway, TJ wasn’t even really that famous. Without the media pressure of a political campaign, TJ’s life was left for obscure references in other people’s articles and bad jokes on dodgy American politics websites. No one but the actual paparazzi were going to try and get a shot, and that was far more easily avoidable than people’s phone cameras.

On the sofa, TJ had practically wound his way around Steve, face still somehow managing to face Steve’s laptop so he could watch the latest episode of another show that Steve liked to point out the flaws of. Not a medical drama this time but a cop show, which somehow was even worse. Steve knew interrogation techniques down to the T and the ones that this TV show was using, very wrong. Steve wouldn’t shut up about it. TJ loved every second of it, though. The snide comments and the asides. The quips and the jokes, the light-hearted teasing, the smile ever-growing on both of their faces. It was the happiness TJ had hoped for, had imagined in his darkest dreams, filled with desire and dread. Steve, as he only ever did around TJ (or so he assumed), let his guard down and settled into himself, maybe his old-self, maybe his new-self, in the end it didn’t really matter. His smile was softer, his wrinkles more pronounced and his eyes shone like he hadn’t lost his youth decades before he should’ve.

It was almost insane to think only a week had passed.

“You know,” TJ began, as the episode finished and they clicked the button to watch another, even if neither were all that interested in it, “you should really get furniture for this place.”

“I know,” Steve sighed. “I was thinking about getting a few more bookshelves.”

“Because you don’t have enough already?” TJ asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

“I know, I know, the last person must have really liked books but it fits the aesthetic of the place.”

“And you care about that? Do you even read much?”

“Not really. I always loved it, wasn’t always that good at it.”

“Surely you can read.”

“Of course I can _read_, it just doesn’t come as naturally as it does with others. I’m slow and watching a TV show just feels more rewarding sometimes.”

“Look at that, even the nonagenarian prefers TV over books.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, people are wrong about the forties.”

“Greatest generation?”

“Hardly. But we did what we could.”

“Look, why don’t you get some pictures for the place. You like motorcycles, right? Get some posters on the walls. Frame them and everything. Maybe get an army poster.”

“Really?”

“It’ll be funny.”

“Nat will like it.”

“I know she hates me but I’m liking this woman more and more.”

“Don’t tell her that; she has a reputation she wants to uphold,” Steve chuckled.

“What? Friendless?”

“No.” Steve suddenly turned grave. “She wants to act like she doesn’t get affected by people. Makes it harder for people to get to her core.”

“I’m…have you?”

“Not even close. But I’m getting closer.”

Silence descended for a few moments before TJ suggested “how about an easel by the windows? It’s a perfect space.” It really was, just a small nook in the corner of the apartment, surrounding partially by walls but with only an archway for a door, similar to the bedroom. It was South facing, meaning he got the sun just about the time he would paint. Not that he had painted since before the ice.

“I don’t paint anymore.”

“Anymore. Exactly. You should do something you enjoy.” Steve pondered for a moment, his artist heart drawn to the large windows like a moth to a flame. “How about, I get an easel if you get something you enjoy?”

Drugs, TJ wanted to say, but Steve probably wouldn’t find it funny.

“Like what?”

“How about more cooking stuff? You’ve been getting into it. Get yourself some of those fancy knives and some proper non-stick pots and pans. Then I’ll get an easel.” TJ eyed Steve warily before capitulating. “Fine. But I better get a painting.”

“I’ll do one for you,” Steve replied with a smile, the light finally reaching his eyes, no longer darkened by the cloud of loneliness looming over him like a thick grey smog. “Maybe even one of you.”

“I’d like nothing better.”

**Thursday, 13th February 2014**

09:30: TJ :)

_Hows the shopping going :D_

09:32: <3

_It’s been a day_

09:33: _It’s not even ten in the morning._

09:35: TJ :)

_You run at 4 in the frickin morning uv had plenty of time_

09:35: <3

_I run at sunrise. It’s February. The sun rises a 7._

09:36: TJ :)

_Early as hell_

09:36: <3

_Is hell early?_

09:36: TJ :)

_I h8 you_

09:36: <3

_Do you?_

09:37: TJ :)

_Ofc not now back to the easel. U never answered me_

09:38: <3

_I’ll order it once you get your cooking stuff._

09:38: TJ :)

_Fiiiiiiiiiiine. I’ll order it now so get going_

09:39: <3

_You’re a pain, Teej_

09:40: TJ :)

_One that you love_

10:22: <3

_Of course_

** Saturday, 15th February 2014 **

Steve didn’t know what he was doing. Well, no, that was a lie. He knew what he was doing, he was shopping. But how to shop? That was beyond him. It took him about thirty minutes of wandering around the streets at 9am before he gave in (he’d thought it would make it empty but he forgot it was rush hour which meant that whilst the shops were empty, the streets were not, even though it was a Saturday). Even though it was barely above freezing, despite the sun’s shining position in the sky, Steve’s hands were free to hold his phone to his ear without fear of numb fingers: perks of the serum. “Hi, it’s Steve.”

“I saw,” TJ laughed, repeating the same concept over and over again. At this point, TJ was 98% sure Steve was doing it on purpose. “What you doing?”

“Um, I’m shopping. But, well, it’s not going very well.”

“Ooh, you finally getting some furniture?”

“Yeah. The easel was looking lonely.” TJ laughed. “Didn’t expect you to give in so easily, Mr Stubborn. So where are you looking?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not really sure. I’ve been walking around for a while now and I’ve realised I probably should have planned this in advance.”

“Well, lucky for you, even though it’s nine in the morning, I’m awake because, believe it or not, I’ve got a club to plan. Go to GoodWood. It’s not far from your apartment. It’s got cool antique stuff. And no, that’s not even an old joke. I’ll put off the stuff until this evening; I’ll come meet you.”

“Wait, the club? You’re doing it?!”

“Oh, wait, did I not tell you?! Yeah, I got the money for it in December.” Good one, TJ, make it sound like it was some sort of Christmas thing. Not an ‘I stole money from my grandma’ kind of thing. He was still hiding the Lamborghini. His parents wouldn’t be in the dark that much longer, he knew that. As soon as the media hoard descended on the accounts then…

“That’s amazing! I can’t believe it’s actually happening!”

“You sound almost as excited as I was. It’s not that big a deal.”

“I know you don’t talk about it much but you genuinely seem excited when you do. I’m proud of you for finally doing it.”

“Well…thanks, Steve. So, GoodWood?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you there…if I can find it.”

“Sure thing. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“See you.” Steve hung up and smiled, feeling like he had at least a partially coherent plan.

TJ appeared outside of GoodWood around twenty minutes later, buried under two scarves and a thick peacoat with gloves on his hands. “Of all the days, you picked the coldest one,” he grumbled, possibly standing a little too close to Steve to try and soak in his warmth: Steve tensed. “And you wearing that just makes me feel cold.”

“It’s February, what did you expect?”

“Heating. So come on, let’s go.” Steve smiled and followed TJ inside, surreptitiously setting his eyes down the street. No cameras. If he was honest with himself, Steve was just being paranoid. He and TJ weren’t _that_ famous. There were a hell of lot of others to gossip about that people would care more about at this moment in time. Steve may have been famous (really famous, he’d realised recently) but he wasn’t the kind of celebrity that you gossiped about. There was some sort of grudging respect for him in large circles of the public and whilst media still hounded him, they’d learnt quickly enough that defiling Captain America’s name without good proof usually only led to a downgraded readership.

TJ was a different matter but, well, with no active campaigns, TJ’s spotlight was pointing somewhere else for the most part. Steve did get that, even though he knew TJ thought he didn’t. Paranoia was a cruel mistress, though, so maybe he didn’t always show it that well.

TJ sighed with ostentatious relief when the doors shut behind him, unwrapping one of the scarves from his neck and shoving it into his satchel: a leather bag with a logo on it that Steve knew was famous but didn’t have the care to ask about. “So, what are we looking for first?”

Steve pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper, trying to read his neat handwriting under the crippling lines. “Um, I didn’t really have much of a plan-“

“The man with a plan?!”

Steve rolled his eyes and plowed forward. “-but I wrote a few things down. I want some of the posters you mentioned-“

“We’ll do that online.”

“-Okay. And I also was thinking about getting a lamp and a few chairs. The living room is bare. And a nightstand. Or two. Maybe a TV? But I don’t really see why if I have a laptop. Netflix is apparently good to use. I haven’t got an account, though.”

“Yeah, we can get all that later. Chairs and lamp sound like somewhere good to start. You wanna look around?”

“Why not?”

After half-an-hour of lazy searching and another half-an-hour with an over zealous sales rep that Steve talked to for far longer than was necessary due to some sort of ingrained politeness that must have been his mother’s influence, they found what they were looking for, all in one set. The lamp was simple, standing on three legs, all the wires crossing to support the top in a modern but simplistic style. On one side was the chair: leather, comfortable and large. Perfect for a super soldier. Steve already had two chairs on either side of the fireplace but they were something more commonly found in a hospital than a living room. Steve had deemed to put one in the study area and replace it with this. At least now, when he had visitors, he could give them the sofa (which got all the light) and still be comfortable. Not that he ever had many visitors, but it was a nice thought.

“You chosen then?” TJ asked, lounging in one of the free chairs, legs crossed with an air of ‘I do what I want and you can’t stop me’ whilst still perpetuating the usual ‘please don’t hurt me, it’s been done too many times before’. But maybe that was just Steve.

“Yeah. Gonna pay and then we can be on our way. Can’t keep you for too long.”

“I’m in no rush.”

“You have a club to open. Which is an impressive thing to hide, by the way, seeing as we’ve been together most of the time.”

TJ sighed but gave into a smug smile. “Last week wasn’t too busy; thought I’d surprise you. But I guess I do have things to do. But I can see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Steve replied easily, eyes following the customers, all too far away to hear (and anyway, the lulling shop music was actually on a little too loud). “You’re always free to come.”

“Good. I want to see this in place.”

“It’s not going to arrive for a few weeks.”

“You’re Captain America. Who needs delivery when you can just take it home?”

“I have to walk home.”

“You barely live far.”

“You just want to see me lift heavy things, don’t you?”

“What can I say, I like it.” Steve just raised an eyebrow and smirked, going to the sales clerk and leaving TJ to play on his phone (on the one game he had). As he waited for the sale to go through, Steve became all too aware of his smile.

Well then, he thought, maybe it really only took a little bit of effort.


	11. just wait for it, those twin rivers don't know what it's like to be you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song: Wait for It - Hamilton Cast / Twin Rivers - Big Scary / Like To Be You - Shawn Mendes and Julia Michaels

** Friday, 21st February 2014 **

“The Avengers are being called in. Why?” Steve panted frantically down the phone. Natasha, as calm as ever, replied “it’s big this time. Robots. AIM, we think, though this might just be a mimicry. AIM haven’t been around in a long time.” Steve warily shot a glance at TJ, looking a little worse for wear on the sofa. He’d wanted a line today and Steve had done his best to coax him out of it. And now, as it neared evening, it looked more like TJ was worn out than craving. Steve was proud of him.

“How many of us?”

“All of us. This is serious, Steve. This is a lot of lives on the line.”

“I’m on it. I’ll be at the Triskelion in,” he looked at the clock, “five minutes. Is there a quinjet there?”

“Yes. I’ll program it to get you to Boston. God knows why they’re hitting there but at least it’s not New York. They’re still repairing most of the city.”

“I’m on it. Quinjet should only take me 45 minutes.”

“Stark and Thor will be there in 30. The rest of us around the same as you. I’ll call you again once you’re on the ship. Get going.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“You too, Cap.” He sighed as she hung up, regretfully turning to TJ. “I’ve got to go, Teej.” TJ’s eyes turned upwards, soft and innocent, almost like a child’s, watery like he might cry. “Do you really need to?” Steve sighed again. He didn’t have time for this. “I do. But I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t go. I need you,” TJ whined.

“I can’t. People need me. I know it’s been a hard day but-“

“They can deal without you! I _need_ you.”

“They need me more. I can’t discuss this. I have to go.” Steve fled into the bedroom, grabbed the duffel bag and ran to the Triskelion. He was on the quinjet in four minutes - god, sometimes he forgot how fast he could run. He ignored the pinging of his phone, the alert sound TJ’s, and refused to feel the guilt already festering under his skin.

He called Natasha back and got a full report of the situation: robots in Boston, explosions and terror tactics, civilians injured, deaths already, the Avengers called to minimise the damage. Steve knew already that the press that would come after them, how they would blame the Avengers for not coming in sooner. Steve was always inclined to agree but realistically, if they came to every possible terrorist attack, they would never be free to go to the ones that actually needed them.

Once convened, the quinjet sped faster than Steve could have ever thought, the full throttle throwing them through the skies. Steve sometimes liked to stare at the clouds. The view from this high up it was…

It was the most terrifying and enchanting picture he’s ever witnessed. It reminds him of horrors and death, but also pride and sacrifice. It’s beautiful, in the way that a bloody wall can be. He likes that it makes him think, that it lets him dwell on things he shouldn’t. It eases the guilt when he gets home to beige walls and sleek tiles.

But today was different. His eyes kept straying to his phone, no matter how much he tried not to.

Landing five minutes before had been expected was a godsend. Of course, Stark was already there. “Tony,” Steve greeted, adding a passive nod.

“Cap,” he replied tersely.

“What’s the immediate situation?”

“Nothing Iron Man can’t handle.”

“What about the Avengers.”

“Well, I’ll let you join in if you can keep up.”

“Watch it, Stark, I can almost see your ego.”

“Couldn’t you before? Shame. I like to think it’s good looking.” Steve almost smiled.

*

TJ did not smile. In his shaking hands, he gripped his phone, his fingers tapping rapidly at the keys before hitting backspace and rewriting the whole message. He’d already sent five. More would be too pushy, wouldn’t it? But Steve…he couldn’t just leave like that.

He couldn’t.

It wasn’t fair.

Nothing in TJ’s life was fair.

TJ pressed call. Steve didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. Steve was on a mission and TJ came second to the mission. Steve would feel useless without his missions and there wasn’t anything TJ could do about that. It wasn’t like he was a great replacement. In fact, he probably came with just as many problems as the fucking missions did.

Angrily, TJ chucked his phone at the wall (he’d be glad later on that he’d got a good case for it) and screamed, guttural and loud. He didn’t fucking deserve this.

Oh, who was he kidding, _of course he did_.

Shaking with a concoction of anxiety and anger, TJ ripped the remote from the table and turned on the 24-hour news channel that always played in the background. He could be glad at least that he hadn’t been at Steve’s this morning when he deftly worked the TV so he could start from the beginning of the footage.

Robots. Boston. Massacre. Deaths. Oh god.

Steve was there.

Suddenly the anger dissipated. Steve was there and people were dying. Of course, logically, TJ knew people died on Steve’s missions but he’d never…he hadn’t seen it. Not since he’d known him, anyway. To know he was there, on the front lines…

TJ was going to be sick.

He didn’t bother to mute the TV as he ran to the bathroom. He heaved over the toilet but nothing came out, the anxiety sending just bile up his throat. The TV continued to play down the hall, the sounds of screaming and crying ever present as they tracked the streets of Boston. This time the sick did come up.

Oh god, TJ couldn’t take it.

He couldn’t-

_You know what would fix this_, his mind supplied. _You know what would really help_. TJ’s eyes trailed to the cabinet. It was empty, he knew it was. He’d been clean for a while now. Except…

How could he have forgotten.

Rushing to his feet, he ran to the armchair in his bedroom, unzipping the cushion’s cover and reaching in. He knew he’d hit the jackpot when he heard the rustle, felt the soft powder, even through the plastic. God knows how long the bag had been there. A leftover from the days years before he’d met Steve. But, well, who was he to be fussy.

He stopped.

He’d gotten caught up in it again. He couldn’t just take again. He knew one dose would mean he would never stop. He knew if he didn’t stop then Steve would end this, once and for all.

But what if Steve didn’t know…

He smiled.

Carefully, with almost surgical precision, he made his line on the nightstand and leant down, letting the rush of endorphins flood his system. Blissfully, he fell back against the bed and smiled headily. God, this was good.

The TV played in the background but this time, TJ got up and watched it. With the drugs in his system, it suddenly didn’t hit so heavy. He could track it and whilst he still ended up biting his nails down too far, he didn’t feel the urge to vomit or just fucking fly to Boston and get Steve back himself. He had saved himself the anxiety of waiting at home. Instead all he felt was the anticipation for when Steve came back having won the battle. Because of course they’d win. They had to.

They always won.

*

They may have won but they had sure as hell had lost too.

“What the hell was that?!” Steve screamed as Fury approached them, trench-coat billowing forward as the helicopter rumbled behind him.

“That was saving the world, Captain.”

“That was watching dozens of innocents die for the sake of information!”

“That could save thousands more. Perspective, Rogers, perspective.”

“We don’t trade lives,” Steve spat, turning on his heel and storming off before Fury could get in another word. Steve would find his own way home. No one made the move to follow him, all either accepting of Fury’s logic or too clever to go after Steve whilst he was looking for a fight.

Steve wished he could punch Fury in his self-righteous face.

Brewing in the heat of the storm, Steve began to run, his legs pounding furiously against the broken pavement. Broken bodies and torn mechanisms cluttered the streets, blood and oil creating a muddy brown paint on the streets. Police sirens wailed as the final survivors were hurried inside. More were injured than dead, groaning pitifully as the ambulances screamed and tried to keep up with the demand.

The only comparison Steve could draw was war.

Slowly, the pounding of the helicopter’s rotor faded into the distance. Steve was abandoned to the sound of pained groans and his battering feet. He ran faster. Through the darkening streets, Steve twisted and turned into places he didn’t know and wouldn’t remember. He ran like he could run away from it all, begging his memories to be left behind.

But, of course, his memories would never be left behind. They plagued him. They tortured him day in and day out. Every day, he saw Peggy’s red-stained smile and was reminded about what he was too scared to face today. He saw his mother’s blonde braid struggling to fall out as she tucked the stray pieces behind her ears. He saw Bucky’s cocky grin as he led a poor girl down the road by the arm, Steve’s jealous eyes boring holes into the back of the girl’s dress.

Now, he saw TJ, wasting away in his apartment as he watched Steve on the news, surrounded by murder, war and blood. TJ had no part in this. He was innocent. One of these victims could have easily been him. He saw TJ, shaking with want, huddled in Steve’s arms and wondered if he’d given him. Steve had hope, knew deep down he hadn’t but the fear was atavistic, implanted in him as much as the paranoia that plagued TJ.

Oh god, TJ. Steve should have gone home. TJ didn’t deserve him leaving like this. TJ didn’t deserve to suffer his demons alone because Steve couldn’t face his. Letting out a sigh, Steve headed back to the pickup point and called Fury. “Turn around,” he ordered, not feeling up for pleasantries.

“We’re already out of the city-“

“Turn. Around.” The phone went silent.

“Fine. But this is the last time.”

It never felt like they won.

** Monday, 10th March 2014 **

The 10th March 2014 was the third of Bucky’s birthdays that Steve had not been with the man for. The first was in the 1927, when Steve had influenza and Bucky’s dad had called him a fairy for wanting to go see Steve instead of riding his new bike and they’d both cried the next day. The second was last year, where Steve had holed himself up in his apartment and decided not to see the light of day. This year, however, was different. This time, Steve was not alone. His mother wasn’t at work, Bucky wasn’t with his family. This time, TJ was there. Beautiful, amazing TJ, who was blinded by the sudden melancholy that Steve had wrapped himself up in.

Steve had, for the first time since his ‘reform’, decided not to get out of bed. Instead, he hid in the warmth of his sheets and stared blankly at the flimsy curtains, the sun pelting the linen to create a stardust pattern on the other side. The warm, orange hue suggested that Steve hadn’t been lazy enough to sleep in, only lazy enough to remain in place once he was awake. TJ, despite having fallen asleep curled up behind him, was no where to be seen.

Steve didn’t want to go find him.

Truth was, Steve was just fine with being left alone, wallowing in his suffering like a drowning man resigned to his fate. He let the ice burn his lungs, let the guilt ravage his mind as the warm light bathed him. Languorously, he rolled onto his side and buried the covers against his chest, pretending that _he_ was there, just like he’d used to pretend as a scrappy sixteen-year-old in Brooklyn. He stroked the tassels of their thrown cushions and pretended it was _her_ hair, as perfectly coiled as it was in 1943. He pretended they both were there, just like every invading fantasy his dreams had morphed.

Then, like a blanket over them, the guilt settled gently. The guilt that shouted ‘you shouldn’t have been the one to survive’. ‘Why did you get to live whilst they all died?’ At least, he thought, she still had a life. Even without him; he couldn’t fault her that. But Bucky didn’t. Steve imagined him in the kitchen, where TJ was probably standing, celebrating his 97th birthday, even though the idea in itself was impossible. Even if Bucky hadn’t fallen, the likelihood that someone as broken as the soldier on the front lines living to 97 was close to none. Steve’s mind shifted. Behind his closed eyes, he saw the men that had fought in the war in front of him, the calendar date somewhere in 2013. Old men. Veterans, wrinkles crinkling their faces like their skin was tissue paper. Still alive, after all these years, thanking him for what he did, shaking his hand with bright smiles. And all Steve could think, ‘how is it fair that I’m still young? How is it _fair_?’

That’s why he didn’t want to see Peggy, he finally admitted to himself. _That_ was the reason. He just couldn’t face what his own demons would scream when he saw her now, wrinkled like tissue paper and a smile on her blood-red lips, now a faded pink over time. He wouldn’t be able to ignore their chants. He wouldn’t be able to ignored their mantras: “why not you, why not you, why not you, WHY NOT YOU!”

Steve flinched, throwing the covers away, leaving him bare and cold. His pyjamas clung to him, sweat sticky on his skin. The warm bath of golden sun was replaced by the harsh white of the midday sky. A hand knocked the open frame. Oh yes, they were at his place. He should have known. If he’d just thought, he would have been able to see TJ in the kitchen the whole time. Or in the living room. Or watching him warily from the corner of his eye.

“Is everything okay?” TJ asked softly. Oh, of course he didn’t know. It wasn’t like Steve was going to tell him and TJ had already admitted his lack of interest in history. It wasn’t like his friends would tell TJ either. Whilst they had once liked him, now most of them failed to muster an inkling of hope for TJ’s apparently irredeemable soul. He’d lied to them and told them that he and TJ hadn’t gotten back together, that Steve had been powerful enough to say no. Only Clint and Natasha didn’t believe him. They were spies, after all. This was assuming that any of them even knew. But Steve would bet Natasha did; it was her business to know the details.

Steve didn’t care enough to confront it. They weren’t going to stop anything. He _loved_ TJ and he wasn’t going to stop that, not again. He’d lost too many people to lose another and to know it would be by his own hand…

He couldn’t do that.

So neither could they.

But just because Steve loved TJ, didn’t mean he was any closer to letting him in. This was Steve’s burden to bear, not TJ’s. This was Bucky’s birthday and Steve was the one who loved Bucky, not TJ. It was Steve who pined whilst Bucky smiled at a lucky girl. It was Steve who stared whilst Bucky smirked and got into the tub. It was Steve who followed Bucky around like a lost puppy, with no friends of his own. It was Steve who fell in love.

It was Bucky who fell.

And Steve didn’t catch him. He reached out but not fair enough. He reached out but didn’t quite grasp the hand. He reached out but it wasn’t enough. Steve, no matter what, would never be quite enough to save his friends.

His mind span back to Peggy, waiting for him in England. He could make it. He could. He _had_. It would be a long journey but he really could. If only he would. The guilt of that only crippled him more, sending him into foetal position beneath the covers as he tried to gather his wits. He could, if he tried. He was a soldier. He could always focus.

Maybe he just wasn’t letting himself.

So what good was he? If he couldn’t focus then what was left. Because if Steve couldn’t be a soldier, what could he be? An artist? Laughable. His talents were not sellable. And maybe his name was but he was too proud for that. So that was his talents gone. Drawing and fighting, what a skillset to have.

Bucky always had more. And Peggy for that matter. God, Peggy had so much. She was brilliant, totally and inexcusably. Steve had loved her for that. Her strategic skills, her cooking skills, how she could out-drink all of them, how she could look perfect every day with just a handheld mirror and a small bag of cosmetics. How she could perfectly aim a gun.

Just like Bucky. Both of them were sharpshooters, far more so than Steve could ever even hope to be. Bucky could shoot a shot from a hundred metres away and not even think about it. Steve did, sometimes. He wondered how it was possible for his best friend to make impossible shots. Steve didn’t have much to compare to but his own shoddy skills, though, so he didn’t know what to say.

Both of them were merciless too. Maybe that wasn’t something Steve should have liked but it never failed to pull his heart every time. Like when Peggy killed a Nazi and had smiled and laughed less than an hour later, showing that her sensitivity did not blind her to the necessities of war and whilst that could have been delusion, the surety had drawn Steve in like a fish on a line.

Bucky was the same. Whilst guilt often festered him, Bucky could shoot a hundred Nazis in the name of his country. Once, he’d told Steve he did it so Steve didn’t have to. He’d claimed he wasn’t a good guy, that Steve should stop following his example but…

Well, Steve loved him. And love, very rarely, was convenient. Love didn’t discriminate between good and bad. It didn’t lead Steve in the right direction. Love threw Steve into this chaos of war with his heart tugging in two directions, yet somehow managing it with ease. Love didn’t separate Steve’s heart from the sinner, it didn’t draw him towards the saints, like everyone seemed to sure that Steve was. Love was just love.

And then love took.

It took Bucky from him. And it was taking Peggy.

But Steve still loved them, down to his very soul. Just as he loved TJ, with his shy smile and hard-fought journey. He loved all of them because Steve could. It was like with his bigger body, he’d gotten a bigger heart. Or maybe he was just making up for the family he’d never had.

So Steve would lie here and mourn them, love them. He would break here so he could laugh later. He wouldn’t cry because he knew they wouldn’t want him too. Well, he’d try. Because it was too late to take back his mistake. But, somehow, love had given him TJ now, even if Bucky was lost, even if Peggy was soon-to-go.

So Steve would mourn the loss but he would get up tomorrow and love TJ with all his heart. All he had to do was reassure the man. He just had to wait for tomorrow.

But if he mourned today, only today, then what would Bucky think…

“I’m fine,” Steve murmured, his head like a merry-go-round, spinning and spinning, never finding a place to stop. The same thoughts, over and over, plaguing him. His skin was not red. It was black. The blood had dried and the darkness had consumed him.

He’d fought in war of black and white and it had changed him. Bucky had always worried that he’d accepted the darkness too easily, that killing came too easy, that going the dirty-work was what he was meant to do. He’d always argued that Steve was his light, the beacon that would let him achieve purity.

Steve didn’t see it.

He’d always had Bucky as his beacon. He’d always stood in the shadow his body created, whilst his soul glowed as bright as the sun. Steve had stood in the darkness, with no light of his own.

But maybe that was just love blinding him.

Bucky was always the more rational one, after all.

“You’re not. You don’t have to tell me but it’s going to be okay, okay?” TJ murmured, lying down and letting his hand run through Steve’s hair. “It really will be okay.”

Steve didn’t speak.

TJ, met with silence, began to panic. Where he knew most people would wait it out, keep coaxing their friend into a living state, he just panicked. The alarms in his mind sang, pelting him with bullets of anxiety until he too was mute.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted aloud, his own body betraying him.

Steve finally glanced up, his blue eyes dull in the dark room. Almost lifeless. “Don’t do anything. I can do this myself.”

TJ huffed, eyebrows furrowing. “But you don’t have to.” It was like a trigger, one TJ wasn’t even aware he was pulling. Suddenly, the tears were spilling down Steve’s cheeks. Unstoppable. TJ drowned in his anxiety whilst Steve was buried under his tears.

“He said that to me,” Steve admitted, trying to blink away the damage. His eyes were red, he knew it, but he refused to believe it. He sat up, salvaging the strength he still had, staring blankly at the wall. “When my mum died. Bucky said that to me.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry-“

“No. Don’t be. It’s just, you sometimes remind me of him.”

“Because I look like him?”

Steve sighed. “It’s not that. The more I look, the less similar you two seem but it’s…it’s your core values. The ones pushed to the side. You know, Buck used to be real popular but then, when he joined the war, he was just one of thousands. And then he was shoved under my shadow whilst I’d always been under his. You both were…stolen from, I guess. I don’t know. That doesn’t make any sense. But there’s something there. Maybe I’m just imaging things.”

“Is that why you’re upset?”

“It’s his birthday today,” Steve admitted, red eyes trailing to the floor. Quietly, TJ gasped, his hand reaching for Steve but never quite making it.

“Oh. But…is this really he way to help?” TJ knew it was wrong as soon as it came out of his mouth. _Stupid, TJ, always so fucking stupid_.

“What?” Steve turned to TJ, whilst his spine bowed, like Steve was trying to disappear into the body that hid beneath.

“Is staying in bed really the way to help?”

“Maybe not but I…”

“What?”

“I just can’t, okay?”

“Can’t what, Steve?”

“I just can’t do anything else, okay?!” Steve shouted, the words flying out before they impacted. But when they did, you could see it. Steve recoiled, sending himself under the covers like a frightened child. “You don’t get to judge me for mourning someone I lost. It’s not like you’ve ever grieved.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?”

“I’ve grieved.”

“Who, TJ? _Who_?” TJ floundered, opened his mouth. He’d lost people during his addiction; friends on the same path as him with lesser medical care and family support. He’d lost them. But if he was honest, he’d been too high to care. And now, looking back, he’d been too high to even get to know them. It was like the knowledge that a character in a book was dead. It could hurt, sometimes it could even really hurt, but it didn’t stay with you forever. Soon enough, you forgot it. And often enough, it healed over completely, without even a scar.

“…people.”

Suddenly, the covers had been flung across the room, leaving Steve sitting up on the bed, finger digging pointedly into TJ’s chest. “Oh fuck you, TJ! Don’t try and lie to me that you’ve lost people. I know what losing people looks like. I see it in the mirror.” He took in a deep breath. “Don’t you get it? It’s only been a few years since Bucky died. Not decades, like it has been for everyone else.” Steve’s eyes fell down to his lap. “And yes, I know that should be long enough but it’s not because I let the man I love die because I was too frightened to step further off a fucking train.” His eyes widened, mania brewing behind them, now set on TJ’s.

“Love?” TJ asked. Steve almost collapsed. He wasn’t supposed to say that. Oh god, he was not supposed to say that. “Love like you do me?” He continued.

“No. You’re here. He’s not-“

“But you love him?”

“I…it’s complicated.”

“So you do. You just don’t want to say it.”

“Not exactly-“

“Just tell the fucking truth, Steve! I get it, you love him. More than me. Probably more than you ever will me. But guess what, he’s DEAD! And, somehow, I’m still here so think on that. So fuck you, Steve. Fuck. You.” TJ stood and swiftly exited, slamming the door behind him. Once the door was shut, he took heaving breaths, taunted by the newly-bought furniture in Steve’s living area. He couldn’t…he couldn’t do this.

He called his driver and asked to go out. On the way, he stopped by his apartment. Took a line to get himself ready and went to Wendy’s house. She wouldn’t tell. She never told.

Steve was left in silence with the slowly dawning realisation of TJ’s ludicrous. Steve had done nothing wrong. He’d lost someone he loved. And he’d continue to love him. But he could love now too. His loss didn’t make him fucking broken. And for TJ to shout at him like that-

He didn’t know what to do.

** Tuesday, 11th March 2014 **

Steve woke up with a renewed sense of vigour until he was crushed by the sight of half his bed left empty, the sheets strewn from the night before but clearly unslept in. Steve sighed, rubbing his eyes and trying to clear his thoughts. With a sinking feeling, he remembered TJ’s words, the cruel spite behind them and his predilection to believing them. Steve had been an idiot; he’d admitted too much. The words had spilled before he could even think about them but…

He’d only said the truth.

Beneath the crippling loss of loneliness, Steve felt a familiar anger brew. What TJ said wasn’t fair. Steve had been grieving and TJ had…well, he hadn’t done what he was supposed to do, anyway, even if Steve didn’t really know what that was.

Steve felt the urge to call TJ up, try and talk things out but his own reluctance held him back. Steve wasn’t good at…what did they want him to call it again? _Communication_. The words he wanted to say were already lodged in his throat and he hadn’t even begun to say them. Calling TJ would do no good and it wasn’t like he could go searching for an apology. No, he would have to wait for TJ to come to him. What TJ did it…it wasn’t okay. Steve wasn’t going to approach him right away; he’d let TJ take the first step. Or, well, he’d wait until tomorrow.

Still, Steve was fidgety. The anger was already beginning to rage and Steve didn’t have the power to hold it down. The more it festered, the more worried Steve got. TJ’s club was opening on Friday and Steve wanted to be there for him as the stress began to pile on. TJ’s desperation for perfection and success kept dragging him down and Steve needed to be there for him, whether it turned out a job well done or yet another failure.

But TJ wasn’t calling. Or communicating at all. And the longer TJ left it, the more Steve’s mind began to twist because _goddamit, TJ_. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t just…Not to Bucky. Because if there was one thing Steve would do until the end of time, it was defend Bucky.

Then there was a knock. At first, Steve was tempted not to answer. He felt more like punching (another) fist through the wall (though the last time had been long enough ago now that you could barely see where he’d painted over the mark). But, there were a few things he needed to get off his chest and-

“Steve, I am so sorry, just please open the door, okay. Look, I know I fucked up b-but I can fix it. I can. I’m sorry, I just- Open the door?”

Steve crept forward, ears pricked up. “Okay, so you don’t want to do that. I get that. I can- I’ll…I need you Steve. I’m sorry but I need you back. And I know I keep fucking up but I really am changing. It’s just…I heard his name and- I have some bad thoughts sometimes, okay? And sometimes they involve him because, you know, the similarities thing and I just- I don’t know. Open up. Please,” TJ begged, hand pressed flat against the door.

Slowly, Steve lifted his hand to the handle and began to twist it, debating whether he was making the choice. With a breath, he yanked the door open, surprised to see TJ stumble through it slightly like he’d been holding his weight on it. “Oh thank god,” TJ’s eyes flickered up. “I’m so sorry, I really am, I-“

“Stop.” TJ’s mouth shut instantly with a loud snap. “It’s okay. Yesterday wasn’t a good day for either of us.” The words almost hurt to say aloud. Steve felt like a liar, hiding his anger behind a sweet smile, protecting TJ from his inner demons. “And you were right to say something. It’s been years since he…” Steve couldn’t finish. “But I love you too, you know that right? Even if I still-“

“I get it.” TJ didn’t but he wasn’t letting Steve go because of a little jealousy. Over a dead man at that. If there was one thing TJ could do, it was perform better than a dead man. “And I’m still sorry for what I said.” Even if I meant it.

“Apology accepted. How about breakfast?” Steve didn’t try to drag the conversation on any longer, unwilling to talk it through like they _should have_. TJ had never mentioned being jealous of Bucky before. Steve hardly even mentioned Bucky. It was ludicrous that-

“Sounds great.”

** Friday, 14th March 2014 **

On Friday 14th March, The Dome opened. From there, everything went downhill. Or well, not from exactly there. Because, of course, TJ was now living his dream so why would he be upset? Or why would _anything_ go downhill when he was so happy? It didn’t matter that this was bought from his grandmas pocket, in a cheque he could never have procured from bartering with his parents. Either way, he was _sure_ his grandma wouldn’t be upset when she found out when she saw how well it was doing. It was opening night, after all, and you could not deny that The Dome - excluding some external factors - was perfect.

Steve even came. TJ didn’t know how he did it, especially as they are seen so rarely together nowadays. Nevertheless, Steve was here and smiling, a drink in hand, his heart pulsing to the thick beat of the overpoweringly loud music. Not Steve’s scene, TJ was sure of that, but he was glad to see that it wasn’t hellish.

If TJ ever had the mind to think further on anything, he would have realised that Steve wasn’t just doing this because he was getting better. Steve was doing better, yes, TJ knew that but what he didn’t know was that this was Steve’s test. If he was really doing better, surely he could get through this night of _hellish_ absurdity.

It hadn’t even been a week since the ‘Bucky Incident’ as it was so aptly coined. They didn’t mention it further, neither of them willing to dwell on the topic. They’d sorted it out. And Steve was doing better again. And TJ didn’t mind. And nothing was wrong.

Not a single thing.

Especially with a line in his system.

Definitely with a line in his system.

He was being careful, though. Extra careful. Steve couldn’t know; he could only imagine what would happen if Steve found out. But he still did it. He was sure he was more pleasant like this. Steve was smiling so much more and surely, in part, that had to be because TJ was smiling more too, wasn’t it? Steve spent almost all of his time with TJ, if not his team, so of course TJ’s state was going to make Steve better. Better to not try going clean again then if there was no point.

Well, that’s what he told himself, anyway.

Back to the point, though. TJ was being careful. Yes. Careful. Bordering the line between use and abuse. Don’t let Steve see. Stay in the dark areas; places he won’t see your eyes, even with his advanced senses. Stay quiet, he will think the opposite if you’re quiet. Smile. He gets distracted by your smile.

“Steve!” TJ called, waving him over from his own VIP corner. He’d arrived first, to set everything up. Steve came later. Easily, the crowd parted, letting the six-foot giant gracefully wander through the crowd. He got his fair share of second looks. Of all the people to be at the Dome opening, Captain America was probably at the bottom of the list. TJ didn’t care, though. Steve was here. That was all that mattered.

“Hey, Teej,” he greeted, surreptitiously shifting his posture so that no one could see TJ’s reaction as he flashed him a flirtatious smile. “Nice club,” he whispered into his ear. Well, not really whispered, the pounding music was really making it hard to hear. “Why the low lights, though?”

“Atmosphere,” TJ shrugged, his face forming into that of a liars. But, if Steve knew, he sure as hell didn’t show it.

“I’m proud of you, TJ,” Steve said, when the silence lasted too long. “You deserve this.” TJ didn’t even have to reply, he just smiled wide and wished he could lean in for a kiss. But that could wait until later. Steve had already said it was unlikely he would stay until closing time (mostly, he stated, that being the sober one in a crowd wasn’t as much fun as some people made it out to be) but he would wait in TJ’s apartment for his return. Probably watching for medical dramas. God, TJ still couldn’t get over the fact that _Captain America_ watched medical dramas. To be fair, he couldn’t get over the fact that he was dating Captain America. Again.

God, that was still unreal.

TJ should probably have stopped thinking of him as Captain America by now.

He’d seen the man…well…

But _Captain America_.

“Go do your thing,” Steve urged, “don’t hang around with me. Anyway, I hear I might have a pass to the VIP lounge.”

_‘I want to stay with you,’_ he almost blurted. But he didn’t. Because he was being careful. Always careful. Instead, he nodded his affirmation and fled before he could run his mouth.

Whilst TJ, as owner of the club, greeted his guests, Steve decided to explore. This was TJ’s club, the least he could do was put the effort into seeing it. TJ hadn’t let him come in when they were renovating, wanted it to be a surprise. Well, here it was, even if Steve had to squint if he hoped to see the colour of, well, anything.

It didn’t take long, though, to really figure out the gist of things. As much as Steve wanted to be proud of TJ, he wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to think. This wasn’t Steve’s kind of scene at all. Sure, there were worse places to be but Steve couldn’t help but let the ‘old-man’ thoughts seep through, wondering why they wouldn’t just put the lights on a bit brighter or why not turn the music down so they could at least hold a conversation. Well, in the VIP lounge it was fine, he soon found out, but that opened a whole other can of worms.

TJ was clean, Steve knew he was, but that did not mean the people he surrounded himself by were. Lined on the red sofas was a circle of young-looking girls, all leaning over the table, one nostril held closed, white powder in straight lines. Cocaine, that was for sure. Well, one girl was dropping a pill into her mouth but Steve wasn’t going to even bother trying to guess what it was.

Fear rotted Steve’s heart. He was proud, he was, but this was not the place for TJ to be in. This was exactly the temptation the man didn’t need.

He escaped to the overlook of the club, his heart pounding to the rhythm of the music. Slowly, he scanned the floor below and saw TJ laughing, clutching at his gut like it hurt. Steve smiled, infected by the silly grin on TJ’s face. No, he couldn’t deny him this. This was what TJ wanted. Even if it hurt Steve’s senses.

There were sacrifices Steve would just have to make.

But, looking down at TJ in that moment, it didn’t feel like Steve was making any sacrifices. For the first time in his life, he thought he could guess what hope felt like. Or inspiration, maybe. Because seeing TJ like this, well, maybe Steve wanted to look like that too.

** Thursday, 27th March 2014 **

“TJ, I’ve got to go, okay? I’ll talk soon. Love you.” Steve smiled as he hung up, brushing away a stray piece of hair, feeling like a love-sick fool. The past week had been good. Too good, almost. Free of missions and responsibility, Steve had been able to spend most of the week with TJ. For the first time in a long time, TJ looked healthy. He wasn’t craving, he wasn’t fidgeting. He was calmer than usual, yet more alert. The bags under his eyes were looking a little darker but TJ blamed Steve. Steve didn’t bother arguing.

And, over the week, Steve had slowly gotten a mental list of what he wanted to do. The list that TJ liked to name, even if it wasn’t ever put down to writing, ‘Steve Rogers’ anti-brooding list’. Steve had laughed at that but only felt more inclined to start tackling it. If Steve was brooding even around TJ, there were some things he really needed to fix.

Number 1: go out at least once a day

Number 2: paint a painting a week and/or find a new hobby

Number 3: catch up on the future

Number 4: make a friend outside of work/TJ

Number 5: come out to the public

Okay, maybe some of it wasn’t really…possible, but Steve didn’t want to tell himself that it wasn’t going to happen. Coming out was the final goal, anyway. One day, he’d do it.

One day.

Currently, he was tackling number one.

It wasn’t particularly difficult but Steve was certainly lacking the motivation to enjoy it. Without the adrenaline rush of his speed, or the pounding of his heart that came with strategising, Steve was left to meander aimlessly around DC with little care or intent. He would look into shops and overwhelm himself with the mundanity of it. He’d sit in a cafe but find himself more focused in his thoughts than ever had the right to be healthy. Sometimes he’d even try to go to a public gym, and get so uncomfortable with the stares that he fled.

Without that, walking was the only respite. Even then, he found himself barraging into poor, unsuspecting bystanders when his concentration seemed to fade. The world blurred around him like his mind just couldn’t seem to tune in.

He sometimes called TJ when he walked. Those days were much better. He could laugh and smile and didn’t feel embarrassed when he caught people’s eyes because his concentration was diverted. When he bumped into someone, he merely apologised and kept his head down. When he looked into a shop window, he found himself wondering whether TJ would like anything on the display. When he sat in a cafe, he finally had someone to _talk to_ and to comment on the beauty of modern coffee, a long stretch from the sludge of the war (although probably too complicated for Steve’s taste but that didn’t stop him from enjoying them).

But TJ was busy, more so than usual. He was giving flimsy excuses for his departures but Steve had to guess that something was happening at the Dome and TJ was working up the nerve to tell him. TJ had a propensity to bottle things up and then explode. Not unlike Steve, really, so he couldn’t judge him for that.

So, on this mild Spring day, Steve decided to stop making a mockery of his plans and to do something about his problem. Even with his body pulling him down, he dragged himself up, smiling in the mirror a few times to see if it would stick and made an effort not to check if TJ was free. He bundled out onto familiar streets and for the first time in a long while, he let his artist eyes set on it and spot places he might like to draw. And whilst they were few and far between, Steve found himself falling in love with the nooks and crannies of DC, just as he had once fallen in love with New York. Whilst it would never be his true home, his true city, Steve knew that if he kept up, he could maybe fall in love with this city just a little bit too.

Steve ended up in the White House gardens, a brand new blank-page notebook on his lap with a new pencil (both bought in a local stationery shop) in his hand, doodling the fountain, with a tourist group bustling past behind him. His eyes sharpened, his hand flicking sprays of water like it was natural, even if he hadn’t drawn water since he was small and frail and probably half way to death (though he still refused to admit it). A small smile drew up the corners of his lips and for a moment, he wanted every day to be like this.

His heart sank with the knowledge that it probably wouldn’t be.

But, in an effort to keep his spirits up, he focused intently on his drawing until his phone began to ring. Surprised when Stark’s name came up instead of TJ’s, Steve hesitated to pick up the call but decided that he couldn’t just hang up because of personal issues when there could be an emergency (even if Tony would probably be one of the last to call him).

“Capsicle!” An over-eager voice came over the receiver. “Pepper would like me to extend an invite to you to come over for dinner at the tower tonight. Transport is on it’s way-“

“Does that mean I can’t say no?” Steve laughed, unsurprised.

“Of course you can but think of the rest of us, and the guilt you would feel-“

“I’m sure you’d all deal just fine.”

“But you’re our leader, Cap! How could you think we’d be _fine_,” Tony remarked melodramatically.

“Stop with the drama, Stark, I’ll come. Where do I have to be?”

Tony relayed the details, calm and concise, and Steve briskly walked home, putting a few things in a bag in case he couldn’t make it home that night. When he arrived at the landing spot, he was surprised to see Natasha already waiting, smiling.

“Surprised to see you here,” Steve commented, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, it was on my way and it would be quicker than whatever Stark sent. And anyway, I have a job proposition for you.”

“What sort of offer? You know I’m working with SHIELD.”

“And you still would be,” she replied, “except you’ll lead a STRIKE team. Not quite spy work but not quite Avengers either. Suits your skill set. You’ll lead a team of about six on missions under Fury’s orders. Similar to what you do now except you can train up your team and coordinate better. And it will add a degree of regularity to your schedule.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You seem to know exactly what to say to sell this.”

Natasha smirked. “I know you, Rogers. You’re a workaholic.”

“For a workaholic, I’m sure not working very much.”

“And you’re looking all the worse for it,” Natasha stated bluntly. “So what do you think?”

“What do _you_ think?”

“So you’ll take it.”

“Why not. Seems like more of a promotion than a job offer. Under one condition, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“Fury’s secrets. They need to go. I want to go into missions knowing what I’m doing and why.”

“Fury’s a secretive guy. I’m not sure he’ll do that for you, Rogers.”

“Well he better.”

Natasha sighed, waited a moment, eyes trained on Steve’s. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

Steve smiled. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, old man. Now, I want to hear about what you’ve been up to.”

“You’re a gossip, Nat.”

“And don’t let anyone know it.”

*

For the last fifteen minutes of the trip, Steve was left to his own devices. Smiling, he got out his new, black, moleskin notebook and got started on the first page. Digging out a pen, he wrote at the top ’general’. Underneath, he began the list that would then become the composition of the next pages, ranked in order of importance:

  1. language
  2. entertainment
  3. history
  4. technology
  5. food

Steve looked down at the cursive and nodded decisively. If he could cover those five topics, he would have covered most of it. Frankly, seeing such a short list made it all feel a bit less daunting. And, surely, over the last two years he must have tackled _some_ of it. SHIELD had given him plenty on history and exposure had meant that he recognised most modern technology. Language, albeit similar, was a different game. Whilst Steve was beginning to get the hang of new words, he was still struggling with the semantic drift of his old slang, or even just everyday vernacular, as well as the arbitrary contexts in which words now seemed to be important. Not that there weren’t words like that back when he was young but it had felt so…_natural_. Now he really did feel like a grandpa amongst kids.

Shaking the thought away, he kept up the positivity. As his mother had always said, he needed to keep his head high and proud, no matter what was pushing him down (even if that was himself). Suddenly, Steve felt the thud of landing and the reappearance of Natasha told him that they’d made it. “Ready to face the cavalry?” Natasha asked.

“I don’t think I’m ever ready for Tony.”

“No one is,” Natasha quipped. Watching the quinjet open, Steve shouldered his bag and started to walk down the ramp. Immediately, he was greeted by the sight of Tony, grinning maliciously. Steve gulped, knowing that Tony had something on him if he was looking like that. “There he is! Lover boy!” Even Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed. Oh shit.

“What?” Steve tried to play off but he’d never been very good at lying to his friends.

“Oh don’t try and pretend, Capsicle. Did you know, Romanoff?” Tony stops for a moment, ponders like he’s about to act sincere before the notion is wiped and he puts back on his obnoxiously syrupy voice. “Ooooh, you didn’t. How juicy. Follow me!” He suddenly announced, leading them into the penthouse suite, where the rest of the Avengers were waiting for them. Tony melodramatically fell onto the sofa, foot resting on his knee with his hands splayed over the back of the sofa , a painfully constructed act that Steve had learnt to fear. “Guess I’m the only one to know about Capsicle then,” he teased.

“Tony,” he begged silently. He really didn’t want to explain himself right now; he’d been doing so well.

“What? Did you not want us to know? You know, I only know because a friend of a friend was at that club opening and thought it was rather suspicious how _close_ you were-“

“Tony!”

“But why didn’t you tell us about Hammond? You know, I always quite liked him. Though God knows why you’re with him. Bit of a tarnish on your reputation, isn’t he?”

“I’m here with you, Stark,” Steve spat, venom palpable.

“Oh, low blow. Probably right, though. Probably. Well, except for the fact that I, you know, funded you entire life. You know that money in your account, courtesy of me. But maybe I am a stain on your reputation.”

“TJ isn’t a _stain_ on anything.”

“Ooh, protective. Wasn’t expecting that. No, that’s a lie, I was _totally_ expecting that.”

“Can you boys shut up for a second,” Natasha interrupted, as nonchalant as ever. Steve had a sudden thought to the last time they were all congregated like this. How Natasha had finally raised her voice, finally put Steve in his place. He worried that it wouldn’t be a one off.

“How is it that every time we’re together, we just have to watch Stark and Rogers argue?” Clint sighed, groaning and rolling his head backwards.

“They are merely showing camaraderie,” Thor argued. Since when did Thor come to these things? Must have been a coincidence.

“Just because you and your brother…fight, Thor, doesn’t mean it’s healthy or a show of _camaraderie_,” Bruce returned, his fists clenched but the rest of his body eerily quiet.

“When I said boys, I meant all of you.” Without Natasha even having to raise her voice, the room went silent. “You managed to tell me about the last few months and somehow _didn’t_ manage to mention that you were with TJ again?”

“I-“ Steve sighed. “It’s only been a few days.”

“You really think that’s a good idea?”

“Oh, don’t _judge_ me, Natasha. I have it sorted.”

“Do you? Last thing I heard, you broke up with him because he was an addict. What, is he just suddenly clean?” Natasha really was his mother. What was up with her recently? She’d never spied so closely on him before. It almost felt personal, like he’d finally found a chip in her armour.

“Yes!”

“Really?”

“Yes. And I’m helping him. Now leave it.” Natasha raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, folding her arms and leaning back. Steve huffed, wishing he could just go back to the quinjet (but it had already taken off back to wherever they were kept), and took his spot in an armchair in the corner. The room was silent, as if waiting for an apology from _someone_ but it wouldn’t happen. That was probably a problem they’d have to sort out.

A little too late, Pepper walked in, eyebrows raising to her hairline at the sullen sight in front of her. “Tony, what did you do?”

“It wasn’t me!”

Steve huffed a laugh.

“It was you,” Pepper accused.

“You’re supposed to be on my side!” Tony argued.

“And maybe I will be but you have to admit that when it’s like this, you’ve usually done something. _Usually_,” she comments, “purposefully.”

“I _may_ have been prying into Cap’s private life. But it was for his own sake! You can’t blame me for that.”

“And then Cap insulted him,” Bruce supplied.

“After he insulted my personal life.”

“What! I was stating the truth. Your boy is a party animal, that’s pretty well known.”

“Oh shut up, Tony.”

“Oh my god,” Pepper groaned, “it’s like you’re both teenage boys. Tony snap out of it.”

“What about Cap?!”

“He is not under my jurisdiction.”

“And I am?!”

“Of course,” she smiled, placing a delicate kiss at his hairline. “Now, do I have to make you apologise?”

“I am not your child.”

“Good, I don’t want you to be.” She stared Tony down until, like the boy he was at five, he turned to Steve and huffed “I am ever so sorry for telling the truth about your _boyfriend_, it won’t happen again.”

Steve didn’t even listen.

“Anyway,” Pepper intervened, before the tension could get any more palpable. “I have food if you want to eat?”

“Yes!” Clint barked, jumping out of his seat and racing the dining area. Natasha followed closely behind, followed by Thor and Bruce. Tony and Steve glared at each other a while longer until Pepper dragged Tony inside and left Steve to follow them.

After that, it was surprisingly pleasant. As always, the tension diffused between Steve and Tony and they even managed to hold a conversation of two over the course of the next few hours. Natasha kept pushing Steve for information but he remained tight lipped, diverting the topic onto his new agenda.

“So you’re catching up?” Clint asked from across the table.

“Thought it was about time.”

“Here, I’ll give you your first one. Basketball. I think you’ll like it. I know you were all about baseball back in the day but I hear your team moved so it might be time to watch something else.”

“I still like baseball!”

“But just give basketball a try. It’s big nowadays. Maybe just knowing a few players might help. Oh, and look up Michael Jordan. He’s super famous.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” Steve said with a smile, getting out the notebook from his pocket and jotting it down.

“Ooh, are we giving recs! Listen to AC/DC. It’s _so_ something you’ll hate,” Tony interjected.

Steve frowned. “To be fair,” Natasha interjected, “they were a quite important band. It’s probably worth knowing their most famous songs. If you go on Youtube, just click on the top result.”

“I know how Youtube works,” he sighed.

“Do you, old man?” He sighed louder.

Over the next half an hour, his hand got closer and closer to cramping (though it probably never would) as people shot suggestions at him, just as they had over the last few years. Except now it felt like he might actually be able to start on some of these things. As time went on, the more important the things seemed to be. Friends kept getting mentioned and was apparently a great way to understand their generations attitude (though he still wasn’t quite clear what generations they were all apart of. Frankly, he didn’t really know what year _any_ of them were born in. Especially Nat. Thinking about how old she was just confused him). Asian food was apparently huge now (he’d already had Chinese and thought it was quite good). The Cold War would definitely be interesting for Steve, they agreed. So would the war in Vietnam.

As the suggestions continued to flow, Steve couldn’t help himself from smiling. It finally felt, if only slightly, that he was a part of the group. He wasn’t the leader, he was their follower. They were doing something for him that he couldn’t do himself and no matter how small it was, it felt generous, in a way none of their actions had before. They were loyal but they weren’t often kind. Their dynamic just didn’t work that way. But today, despite the initial glitch, there had been something akin to familial about the entire ordeal. Suddenly, Steve didn’t feel so guilty about not meeting TJ today, or skipping out on some parts of his list.

His list wasn’t the only way to get better. When TJ had opened the Dome, when it had been a _success_, Steve had thought that maybe having a success of his own would allow him to get better too, just like TJ was. But maybe Steve didn’t need that. He had TJ, he had these friends and maybe, soon enough, he could accept that this was his family. His dysfunctional, delusional family.

Maybe it was worth a few more visits.


	12. cocaine jesus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An absolute mess happened. I edited it the wrong way and to take into account my notes (which already got deleted once) will take another year. I don't want to do that. So, this is going to be unedited and un-beta'd, although I will stick it into Grammarly. What will now be up will be it but thanks for everyone's who has read this far. This has been my biggest project by far and I'm quite proud of it and the effort I put in.

** Thursday, 3rd April 2014 **

By the time April rolled around, old habits were plaguing them. With the new STRIKE team now part of his job description, Steve barely got a chance to be home, never mind see TJ. They texted when they could, but Steve now spent more of his doing his morning run, going to work and sleeping. TJ made unannounced visits every now and then but without Steve as his unofficial sponsor, TJ was falling by the wayside. The more he was left alone, the more times he seemed to be craving. What had started as another cycle of drug abuse had spiralled into another addiction. Steve checked up on him when he could. A few phone calls were smattered in between the endless string of checkups and TJ put on a good act, he always had. That didn’t fix the problem, though, and - at this point - TJ wasn’t really sure he wanted it to be fixed.

As long as Steve didn’t know.

Though worse than the constant cravings, the newly-arrived jitters (fuck, he really was a mess, wasn’t he?) and the impending loneliness, was watching Steve on the TV. The new STRIKE team meant that Steve’s missions were mostly kept under wraps until Thursday, when TJ was writhing on the sofa with a newfound bout of self-determination to get clean (Steve had said he’d visit tomorrow. TJ needed to remind himself how to be clean for a day), the news playing too loudly in front of him. He sank effortlessly in the cushions, his throbbing head cooled by the yet-to-be-hot covers. His eyes were glazed over, his head somewhere completely different, when the reporter suddenly shouted “we have sightings of Captain America in Hawaii, where we have reports that a terrorist organisation A.I.M are attempting to dump a biological weapon into the ocean. He is followed by fellow Avenger ‘Black Widow’ but others from the team are yet to appear.” The reporter stopped, holding a finger to her ear as she listened, tight bun pulling her makeup-caked face into an eerily stoic, almost impenetrable, mask. “Captain America is down, I repeat, Captain America is down. I’m having incoming reports that an A.I.M scientist managed to inject the Captain with the biological agent. The risk to the public is now thought to be over but-“ TJ gasped and stood, mind reeling as he rushed to the bathroom, rustling through the cupboards until he pulled out his stash.

Fuck this.

FUCK THIS!

He came back to the living room in delirium, his eyes wide and unfocused. Worry still gnawed at the bag of his mind but he overruled it, watching but not listening as the reporter continued to give information on the unfolding events. “Captain America is thought to have survived the injection but is being rushed to hospital as I speak.” Of course he is. Of fucking course he is. 

TJ dropped his head onto the backrest of the sofa and sighed. This is what he gets for dating a lunatic. Grumbling, he grabbed his phone and opened his text stream with Steve. ’See you landed yourself in hospital again. Get well soon,’ he typed. He would think, later on, that he probably should have composed a nicer text but bitterness shrouded him. If Steve was going to go out there and sacrifice himself for the world, TJ was allowed to be bitter about it. The world might have wanted Captain America to be a martyr but TJ sure didn’t want Steve to be one. 

TJ sighed again, falling onto his side and curling up again, gathering a blanket and pulling up to his chin despite it being 50% humidity outside and plenty warm. Not quite summer weather yet but approaching it. Well, it was only April. Gripping the soft faux-fur in his fingers, TJ relished in the soft feeling of the individual strands, smiling drunkenly as he watched the wall shift from side-to-side. It probably wasn’t supposed to be doing that. 

TJ sighed, who was he kidding. A hit barely lasted any time anymore, he was far soberer than he wished he was. Maybe it was the anxious thoughts that pushed the sobriety to the surface, or maybe just the constant exposure, but TJ couldn’t evade the worries on his mind. This all started since the STRIKE team, TJ thought. Well, not the addiction, that was far before, but this whole…loneliness thing. It wasn’t new, not really. TJ had fought with it his whole life: the spotlight drove away the friends that you wish you could have. But this…this was the worst kind of loneliness, the type where there was an out. If he could just reach out and reel Steve back in, he’d solve the problem. But Steve was busy and tired and-

TJ didn’t know what to do.

Steve liked to have something to do. He liked to be busy, to work. Sign of a depression kid, TJ would guess (not that he really knew anything about the Great Depression). TJ, on the other hand, revelled in leisure. Work was a means to an end and one that TJ didn’t have to do very much of. So to get Steve to return, TJ would have to attempt a fundamental change in Steve’s psyche and TJ wasn’t off his rockers enough to yet to really believe he could do that.

But he could try. He could always try.

Well, at least TJ had time to plan. He suspected tomorrows plans were now just that, a plan. 

** Thursday, 10th April 2014 **

Steve finally had a break. He wasn’t sure he really wanted it but since his short time in hospital (in which he’d left more than a day before he was supposed to) and another semi-botched mission (he’d gotten injured but no one else had so only  _ Natasha _ would say it was a botched mission), Fury told him to take a few days off, looking like he might have had a word from Natasha. Steve still had no idea what their relationship was but for being Natasha’s boss, Fury sure did seem willing to take her orders. Steve wondered for a moment whether there was a relationship there before dispelling the thoughts with a silent laugh. Of course not. That would be  _ dangerous _ .

Steve was on his way to TJ’s. Since he’d cut off their date on Friday, they hadn’t actually seen each other. Steve felt a pang of guilt but pushed it away. He’d had other concerns,  _ world-ending _ concerns, and it had only been a week and whilst they had been attached at the hip for a while, any  _ normal _ relationship could easily deal with a week apart. Steve was worried that TJ didn’t quite agree, though. His texts had been getting more and more perfunctory, something that Steve had learnt meant irritation (tone in text, he’d put onto his list) which probably meant that they were definitely not on the same page.

Finally reaching the door, Steve knocked, his bruised knuckles aching as he hit the hardwood. As he waited, his eyes wandered, his gaze falling on the familiar row of buildings that he’d seen a thousand times before. Slowly, he let his eyes travel from alley to alley, hyper-vigilantly checking for cameras before TJ opened the door. “Steve!” TJ shouted, hurrying him inside, a beaming smile on his face which was…unexpected. 

“Hi, Teej. How are you doing?”

“Good, good,” TJ dismissed, waving his hand around, “better now that you’re here.”

Steve took stock of TJ’s living conditions, noting the empty wrappers littering the coffee table and the plethora of drink cans on top of them. “You’ve been…”

“Yeah, I know, I know, I’ve been snacking.” Not eating, TJ should have said. He’d been eating chocolate bars just to stay alive; he couldn’t really stomach anything else. TJ was shaking but it only took stuffing his hands in his pockets to hide it from prying eyes. With nothing in his system since this morning, he was hoping his eyes would have calmed down. Steve hadn’t mentioned anything yet, anyway.

Silence descended, leaving Steve to stare listlessly at the mess before he piped up with “are you okay, Teej? Really. I know I’ve been working a lot recently-“

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna be that reliant on you. I’ve just been a little less busy than usual and it’s kinda made me lazy,” TJ laughed, dismissing Steve’s concerns with little more than a sly smile. Any thought towards the inconsistencies of TJ’s points were swept under the rug when Steve thought of his own apartment, littered with motley as he was swept under by the wave of emptiness. Steve did  _ try _ not to be hypocrite. 

“Anyway-“ TJ interrupted Steve’s thought chain, “what’s the plan?”

“Movie and takeout?” Steve suggested, as he always did. Always. TJ’s face fell. “Do…I know this is probably bad to say but can we go out? I’ve been feeling…I don’t know, cooped up.” Steve was about to point out that TJ had had over a week to go out but when he looked at him, his shaking frame, the black circles under his eyes, Steve thought that maybe TJ just needed a distraction. Steve knew that TJ was struggling and Steve hadn’t been there to help so maybe…

“I don’t know, Teej…”

“Please?”

Steve paused, his shoulders slumped, burdened by the weight of his own contradictions. Steve wanted to square them, face the world head-on, and punch through all those who got in his way. He wanted to defeat the stereotype he’d been moulded into. He wanted to feel comfortable in his own skin, despite having been told it was wrong his entire life…

It was a sin.

But Steve wasn’t so sure about God anyway, so how could he believe in sin?

“Why not? I mean, I might not be ready to, you know, show off. But why not.”

“Does this mean you’ll…”

“Maybe we’ll just start small. Let them know we’re friends again first.” Set in his choice, Steve nodded decisively. “Yeah. Friends first. Boyfriend after.” TJ’s smile lit up the whole room, his grin like infectious laughter, tugging at Steve’s own lips, the pink curling up the corners like styled ribbon. 

“Great! I mean…great. That’s…where to? Dinner?”

“Dinner sounds good.” Steve choked out a breath as TJ flung himself at him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Thank you,” TJ murmured into his neck, raising the small hairs on the back of Steve’s neck. “Don’t be. You’re the one who’s waited for me.” The trembling continued but it almost felt calmer against Steve’s skin, a lulling buzz rather than a hurricane-like shake. Steve couldn’t have calmed his smile if he tried. “Now, what do you recommend, because all my friends seem to think it’s funny to only serve me American food and I want something interesting. I mean, I’ve had Chinese. And something called shawarma, though I don’t know where that’s from.” 

TJ pulled away and thought for a moment. “How about Japanese?”

“Why not. Know anywhere good?”

“You know what, let’s walk about and see if there’s a good sushi place. I actually don’t have it that often.”

“But it’s good?”

“Oh, definitely. Not sure if it’s filling enough for your endless pit of a stomach but…”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m used to starving,” Steve deadpanned. There would have been a time when TJ would have worried, asked questions, now he just laughs and leads them out the door, unashamedly smiling for the paparazzi, Steve fearfully following suit. 

The sun was setting on the horizon now (god, Steve hadn’t even known how late it was. What had he even been doing before this? Fuck, he’d lost time again), a balmy orange glow spilling over onto the tall townhouses of downtown DC. TJ’s apartment was in a nice area, filled with old-fashioned - now richly priced - apartments, predominantly old houses split into their first and second floors. It almost meant the streets were quiet, less of what Steve’s mum would have called ‘creepy loiterers’ and more couples with dinner jackets and dresses on their way to a formal evening. Steve wondered for a moment if TJ paid his own rent; his place must be expensive. 

TJ looked down at Steve’s hand and reached for it before pulling away quickly, awkwardly bringing his arm up to scratch an invisible itch. God, this might be harder than he’d expected. Still, nothing was going to dim his spirits. They were  _ out _ , something that should not have been so impressive seeing as that was what they had done for almost all of the first few months they’d known each other. Before Steve had gotten scared. TJ still couldn’t really get his head around it. Captain America, cowardly? It just didn’t fit. TJ wondered for a moment whether it was because of him…

“Hey, what about this place?” TJ suddenly pipes up, despite never having seen the sushi bar but a) it was a sushi place anyway and b) it was in a good area, so how bad could it be? “Why not.” TJ led Steve inside, both of them ducking to make it through the small doorway. The restaurant was quaint but clearly high-market, with red walls and golden trim, almost palatial in style despite its low ceilings and dark lighting. They were ushered to a table, the waiter painfully polite as others surreptitiously stared at the couple in a move that clearly stated ‘I think I know who you are but I’m either too polite to interrupt you or I’m not sure enough to talk to you’. TJ ignored it, as he had done for years now, but Steve felt like a target under their arrowed-eyes. It had been like this for so long now that he should have been used to it but even he would admit that he had been closeted away, hidden behind the walls of his apartment, or TJ’s, or Stark/Avengers tower. 

Taking a deep breath, Steve took his seat and tried to live in the moment. Mind swirling, he finally settled. Decisively, he reached for the menu and started scanning the items. Slowly, a laugh bubbled up. “What does any of this  _ mean _ ? Am I supposed to know Japanese?” 

“Read the descriptions,” TJ advised, chuckling along. “Or I can order for you?”

“Oh, that would be great.” Frankly, reading the descriptions weren’t making it any clearer. He  _ knew _ he’d heard of wasabi before and at just the thought of it, he shuddered, so any other unknown ingredients were going in his ‘dangerous’ list. “I really don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s what I’m here for.” TJ beamed, eyes crinkling at the edges and for just a moment, Steve thought ‘maybe that’s what I’ll see when I’m older’. The thought scared him, sending him reeling back behind his shell, the non-committal side of him closing in. But he’d promised Bucky, and Peggy, so why couldn’t he just promise TJ? The thought of Peggy sent him spiralling downwards for a moment, a noxious cloud of guilt suffocating him but as he looked back up at TJ, he thought that he ought not to be. He had a job, and TJ, and so little time nowadays. And sure, they were all only excuses, but he had them nevertheless. Peggy would forgive him; she too often did.

“So, how’s work been?” TJ started, ignoring the fact that Steve’s smile had fallen completely, leaving a blank ghost behind it, staring vacantly at the thick red curtains that were held back at either side of the large, rounded windows. 

“Busy, you know. They didn’t really say that having my own team would take so much more. They’re a good team, though. I’m not as sure about the people in it, they’re all a bit…tough, but they’re good at what they do.”

“Tough?”

“Yeah. Rumlow and Rollins seem to know each other well and they both fight great but they’re brutal. Good but brutal. But that’s probably just army training now. They were both special ops, I think.”

“Is brutal good?” TJ’s voice was hushed, careful about the listeners around them but really, was anyone going to bring up the fact that Captain America was talking about a team that fought. If no one, presumably, knew who Rumlow and Rollins were, they would probably just presume they were stuck in with the rest of the b-team Avengers (SHIELD agents that helped the Avengers on their missions, when they could). 

“I’m not sure yet. I’m still trying to scope their range. So far, though, they’ve done well. Helped a lot of people. So I can’t stop them.”

“Sounds like you want to.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s my job to train them. I won’t step in, though, unless they prove that what they’re doing is the wrong thing.”

“Good point, I guess.”

“So what about you? How’s the Dome going?” 

“Oh! Great!” TJ should have done a line. “Everyone’s loving it. It’s really thriving.”

“Really? That’s great!” If Steve noticed the way TJ’s face fell, he didn’t mention it. Neither of them really wanted to tarnish the small amount of time they had left. Things like this had happened before, it was likely that TJ was just remembering something bad. Steve was about to ask if something had happened to him when-

“But for now, I’m just doing a lot of paperwork. My mum’s suddenly  _ really _ busy so I’m just kinda hanging out. It’s nice to have you around. Feels a little less lonely.” It was vulnerable, something that should have been innocent, kind. Instead, even TJ knew now that it was a ploy to get Steve to stay more often. It almost worked; Steve’s heartstrings had been pulled, he was almost ready to promise more but then he remembered his own struggles at home. How the empty feeling of doing no work had burdened him. He needed to know he was  _ doing _ something.

And now that TJ was doing better…

“Hello, may I take your order,“ the waiter intervenes, smiling vapidly at the pair of them with a crushed notepad in hand. 

“Oh, yes. I’ll have the chicken ramen and edamame beans as a side and can I get the sushi assortment for my  _ friend _ here. The biggest range you have.”

“Of course, Mr Hammond. We will have your order shortly. Any drinks?”

“Just water for both of us. Unless…”

“No, just water is fine,” Steve added, smiling vapidly in return, in some attempt at social decorum that he’d never quite taken to: Brooklyn boys were polite, charming but they weren’t fake. But, well, Steve hadn’t been much of a Brooklyn boy. Still, he’d say the only thing he’d lost, alongside his hearing in one ear and the use of working lungs, was his charm.

Steve turned back to TJ. “You know I’m only a call away whenever you need me.”

TJ sighed, knowing he’d lost the battle. “I know. Just miss you is all.” Steve wanted to take his hand, squeeze it in his own, but he couldn’t. Not with their arrows already digging in, leaving him bleeding all over the lush, red carpet. It just wasn’t right.

“Me too.”

It only took another fifteen minutes for all of their food to arrive. TJ shared his beans, which Steve quickly fell in love with, but Steve was confused by the ramen, saying it looked like ‘a bowl of dishwater’ and tasted like ‘plain salt’. The sushi went down similarly. “It’s raw?” He’d commented incredulously but then all but devoured the meat and fish rolls. The cucumber and chutney ones were less nice but still got eaten for the sake of not wasting food. Steve wasn’t leaving anything on his plate, no matter how much he didn’t like it. Steve was surprised by the flavour in each and every one but he’d admit that he’d slowly become accustomed to the great taste of food in the future. No more powdered mash or cow-feet stew. Good meals,  _ healthy _ meals (for the most part). 

Steve smiled at TJ and TJ smiled right back, both of them staring like awkward teenagers who had finally got their act together. Steve fidgeted, trying to hold his hands back as the begged to grasp TJ’s. TJ, meanwhile, fidgeted to expel the excess energy in his body. He was suddenly buzzing, and he didn’t quite understand why. No, not buzzing, shaking. Trembling. Not like earlier, he couldn’t just ignore these, this felt like the beginning of the seizure. He gripped his fork tightly, willed them to stop, and awkwardly asked for the bill.

“Are you-“

“I’m fine. Think something went down the wrong way.”

“You’re shaking.”

“Weird, right? Eh, I’ll be fine.” Right? “It’s like the hiccups. I’ll just have to wait it out.”

“If you’re sure.” Steve didn’t really know anything about medicine bar triage.

“Of course I am,” TJ replied, a little too light to be real. Steve just smiled and forced the problem from his own close-mind and watched the waiter return with their bill and paid it before TJ could get a chance to, laughing at his mock glare as he pocketed his card. “You know you don’t have to do that.”

“But I wanted to.” Steve smiled and stood up, leading their way out, holding the door open for TJ. They walked back, light conversation flowing easily between them and Steve remembered, for the first time in a long time, why he loved TJ: the ease between them, the smiles that came unabashed, the judgement that never came. Steve’s hand slipped out of his pocket and whilst it could never quite reach TJ’s hand, it was the first step towards this jigsaw he was frantically trying to fit into place. He had all the pieces, he just had to start slotting them all together.

When they finally got back to TJ’s house, they were laughing so hard that TJ’s stomach was beginning to ache and tears were slipping from Steve’s eyes. TJ only just managed to get the key in the lock, before Steve’s lips were on his own, no longer held apart by arrows and drawn together by time. “I love you,” Steve murmured, as they stumbled into the living room, moonlight flooding in through the windows. “I love you too,” TJ replied as if it were obvious, pressing his lips back to Steve’s.

And maybe it was.

Steve was happy, after all. Or, well, he was happy right now. And that made all the times he wasn’t…well, it made them okay.


	13. perpetually, we go to and fro my flaws

** Monday, 21st April 2014 **

** TJ HAMMOND SEEN WITH CAPTAIN AMERICA INSIDE APARTMENT **

_ Inside TJ Hammond’s (son of Elaine Barrish) apartment, Captain America is seen to be kissing the ex-First Son, sparking rumours about the Captain’s sexuality _

// .jpeg image : Captain America kissing TJ Hammond inside his apartment on Thursday evening //

Whilst it has been widely accepted that Captain America is a heterosexual figure, new pictures have sparked worldwide rumours that it may be more complicated than first thought. On top of this, Hammond’s similarities to the Captain’s old partner James Barnes have set a new movement to reassess history. Was the Captain’s relationship with his partner really platonic?

Read more on  _ Hello! _ Online…

*

“Shit…SHIT!” Steve’s rage floundered, free to spread the violence that was buried in him, atavistic and irremovable. His foot found the wall, burying itself into the concrete of his apartment’s wall, his vision as red as the blood on his hands. The article was still open, his laptop glaring tauntingly at him. 

TJ was just staring. He was behind the laptop, he didn’t know what Steve was looking at, what was making Steve explode, what was- 

He turned the laptop. “Oh my god,” he whispered, throat hoarse with oncoming tears before his own anger buried it. “No. They can’t do that. They can’t.”

“Of course they can.”

“No! They took photos of me in my own home! That is definitely  _ not _ allowed.”

“What does it matter?!” Steve shouted. “They’ve seen it! They know who I am. They…”

“They what?”

“Just read it,” Steve fumed. TJ obliged, scanning the laptop’s screen, hands resting on the trackpad, poised to close the window at the first sign of trouble. Then, ‘Hammond’s similarities to the Captain’s old partner James Barnes have set a new movement to reassess history’. TJ exploded. 

“They can’t be serious!” He screamed. “I’m calling my mum. She is getting this to fucking court. I am not letting them do this. I’m not…I can’t, they can’t, I don’t want them. FUCK!” TJ’s flat palm hit the wall with a resounding slap. His breath was ragged, his lungs burning as they gulped for air. Steve didn’t have the sense to tell him to calm down. 

“Don’t call her.” Steve’s own voice was thick like tar, his eyes shuttered closed as he strategised. “Please,” he begged. Silence descended, TJ’s hand slipping from the wall, his mouth opened to retort but closing each time he reminded himself of Steve’s words. 

“They can’t know that photo is real.”

“Steve-“

“No. They can’t. The bastard who took that photo is going to pay and he’s not going to get the satisfaction to-“

“Steve, maybe you should-“

“No, TJ! I am not doing what they want. I did not choose this!”

“Well neither did I!” TJ screamed, swallowing the silence and descending them into a palpable tension where neither dared speak, ears drawn to the whine of the air-con and the slow tip-tapping of the water from the sink. “And I let it happen. Maybe it’s time you just-“

“I am not doing this on their terms,” Steve spat fiercely. 

“You can’t disprove the photo.”

“It was fabricated.”

“We both know that isn’t true!”

“But they don’t!” Steve raged, voice escalating. “They don’t have a clue. And if I’m not ready to tell them, they’re not going to know.” He paused, blinking away the angry tears that had welled up. His voice broke, “I can’t let them know.”

“Oh, Steve,” TJ sighed, wrapping him up in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted this to happen to you too.”

“I know,” Steve mumbled into TJ’s shoulder, his voice so wrecked it was near unrecognisable. “I want whoever did this to pay. They can’t do this.”

“I know you do but this isn’t a back alley, Steve, this is the fucking media you’re up against.”

_ This is war. _

“Well what do I do then?”

“You accept the past and move on. Even if you think it’s impossible. Even if it takes years.” TJ stopped for a moment, running his hand up and down Steve’s back. “I’m here for you,” he promised. “I’ll always be here for you.”

When it was safe to let go, TJ snuck a line. Consequences be damned.

** Tuesday, 22nd April 2014 **

A day passed and TJ couldn't even begin to comprehend what he was supposed to do. The media storm was raging stronger than a level 5 hurricane. Steve walls, tall and impenetrable, lay crumpled on the ground; his face still remained a mask of infallibility, stoic and stern but behind his cold, blue eyes, TJ could see nothing. 

“Do you want something to eat?” He hedged, standing uselessly by the microwave, in no way prepared to do anything more. Much as he hated to say it, this was affecting TJ too. This wasn't just about  _ Captain America _ coming out. This was about  _ Captain America _ dating  _ TJ Hammond _ : drug addict, party-goer, useless socialite, unambitious, a stain on the family name. The list could go on; TJ would prefer it go on if it meant he could forget about the other words that have been shot into him like bullets.  _ TJ Hammond Ruining the American Name _ ;  _ Captain America's Unlikely Love _ ;  _ Rogers and Hammond: A New Level of Toxicity _ . Some were bad, some were worse. Some were even good. TJ didn't read many of the good. He had no propensity towards ego-inflation, even if his propensity towards self-absorption prevailed. 

Steve hadn’t read any of the articles.

For a moment, TJ thought maybe that was a good thing: he was avoiding the storm. But, frankly, with the gaunt, sunken cheeks he was sporting and the dark eyes, TJ didn’t think it was helping him much. TJ couldn’t imagine him any worse.

That was when it hit him. When it truly, horrifically hit him. This was Steve Rogers. This was the broken man beneath the mask. Slowly, Steve had been chipping away the expectation from TJ’s presumptuous ontology but no matter how far he went, TJ still saw an aspect of the Captain in him. But here he was: broken, bloody and crumbling. Here was Steve Rogers. The man whose stubbornness had led him to bed rather than out of it, bullheadedly refusing to sit up, never mind get up and go out. The man’s whose optimism was slowly being peeled from him as the world threw shit after shit at him. Here was a man’s whose faith had been destroyed by his institutions out-dated and misguided rules but even more so by the conniving media that proved to him that no matter what he did, no matter how good he was, Steve Rogers was a man to be punished.

Captain America was the one time he seemed safe. The one time where life didn’t try to throw everything bad at him, even if that was the literal job description. Whilst Captain America took brutal punches and fought evil beyond words, the emotional onslaught was minimal. He was a concept, not a man, and concepts didn’t  _ feel _ . 

“No,” Steve mumbled weakly, voice steady but quiet. 

“Are you sure?” Steve didn’t even bother to answer. “Okay. I’m going to be in the kitchen if you need me.” TJ didn’t know what else to do. They were at Steve’s. Steve, despite his situation, would never have taken TJ’s bed. But, either way, it left TJ at an impasse. This wasn’t his home, this wasn’t his place to wander but he wasn’t going to leave Steve. He didn’t want to be here but he couldn’t leave. But then, hell, when had TJ ever got what he actually  _ wanted _ . Rule 2 applies to more than just words.

_ 1\. Hammonds don’t talk honestly _

_ 2\. Say what they want you to say _

_ 3\. Ignorance is bliss _

And to think Rule 3 had been going well for so long. After circling the living area three times, TJ sighed and gave up. With a weak push, he let the door creak open and calmly walked to the side of the bed and sat beside the large lump underneath the covers. “Hey,” he whispered, like he was trying to wake someone up. Steve didn’t answer but the shifting of the covers suggested he was listening. TJ sighed, staring blankly at the beige walls, now decorated (as much as Steve was capable of decorating). Light had flittered through the flimsy slats and left trails of shadows across the wall, shading the room in a cover of partial-darkness. TJ didn’t like the metaphor that must have been hiding there.

“Some people are supporting you, you know.”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh before muttering “some”. 

“Can you at least come out from under the covers?” Steve, in some fit of energy, shoved the covers away from him and sat up against the headboard. “What do you want, TJ?” He sighed, like every bit of energy had been sapped from him just by sitting up, despite having been resting for hours now. Then again, TJ knew exactly how depression worked, it came as no surprise.

“Just to talk. I don’t think you’re letting yourself see the good side of this.”

“I know you wanted me to come out but-“

“This isn’t about that-“

“Isn’t it?”

“No. This is about what it’s done to you and me trying to help you see that you can look at this other ways. Come on, you’re an optimist. You must see the good in this.”

“Like what? They think I’m with you because you’re Bucky. They’re accusing me of being in him. When we never- It wasn’t like that. It just wasn’t. And even if it was, they have no right to say that. You’re you. Until yesterday, they acted liked Bucky,” he choked on the name, “never even existed. There was me and my ‘team’ with a catchy name. But the men in it, the men who fought for this country, they hardly get seen.” Steve’s spiel was like watching someone open their eyes when waking up. It started slow but as they adjusted to the light, it was like their whole body moved faster. Steve, even if he remained stock-still, had light in his eyes, a fire, and  _ anger _ . “And now they want to bring back his memory for  _ gossip _ . I can’t- I won’t let them. I won’t let them do it. But…” TJ looked at Steve, wanting to speak but wanting more to know how he finished the sentence. “But I don’t know how.”

“I can help,” TJ cut in. “Promise. I know the media. We’ll twist it. Separate me from Bucky. We can. If that’s your problem-“

“Stop trying, TJ. Maybe you can fix this, maybe you really can. But you can’t fix it all. So stop trying.”

“No, look, we can go through them one by-“

“Stop!” Steve looked frantic and for the first time, he moved. He jumped off the bed, already pacing back and forth like he had energy to burn (and my god, he did. The super serum only made it worse). “Just stop it. We can’t-“

“You’re trapping yourself in this.”

“Maybe I am!” Steve bellowed, eyes frenetically wide. “Maybe I don’t want to do this anymore. Maybe it’s not worth it. I said I was sure and I thought I was but now…I just don’t think I can do this. I want to punch someone. Jesus Christ, I really want to punch someone. But that doesn’t work anymore. There are cameras everywhere, watching me. I can’t do this war with words. I just  _ can’t _ .”

“Okay, just calm down-“

“You want me to calm down?” Steve asked, voice crescendoing. “You really want me to calm down? My privacy has been violated. My secrets revealed to the  _ entire world _ . And they’re slandering me. You know the one thing I had, before you, before I tried to get myself a proper life as Steve Rogers: Captain America. I had him. You know what I have now? Nothing. They’ve ruined him. I was preparing to do it, you know. Come out. I was going to do it proudly. I was going to support the charities. I was going to do it so kids didn’t feel so scared anymore. I was going to do it so that others didn’t feel so bad anymore. But now they’re going to feel like I was  _ hiding _ it and I can’t even fault them because it’s  _ true _ . It’s all fucking true.” Steve took in a shuddering breath and his eyes caught TJ.

There was nothing left to say.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

Steve sighed, clambering back into bed like it was the haven he could hide in. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t tell TJ not to worry. Not to apologise. Somewhere, deep down, no matter how much he would deny it, he wanted to blame TJ. If he could just blame him, he could stop blaming himself.

But that wasn’t Steve Rogers’ style.

He remained there for as long as his cells could take it, which was shamefully shorter than they used to be able to. His whole body shook with unused energy whilst his mind screamed that it was tired. He could barely keep his eyes open yet his nerves were shaken with unused energy. His body was cruel like that. Whilst it had once lacked the energy to make it up the stairs, it now glowed on him. Even without food, the light still shined so brightly. So Steve didn't eat. TJ didn't comment until the next mealtime came around, tempting Steve with a hand-cooked meal. Steve refused again. 

TJ stayed quiet.

It was like the world was static, passing in both a blur and slow-trudging seconds. It was irritating, persistent but almost so forgettable you learnt to ignore it after a while. You could sit there, stare blankly, and forget the pixels were moving. Chaotic yet a pattern. Each movement familiar yet never seen before.

Except for one small piece: TJ. He moved like a stray pixel, blinking from existence before popping in again. Random intervals. Random moods. Random actions. Steve found himself drawn to it like a moth to a flame yet just like the sickly insect, it burnt as much to touch.

“Hi, Steve,” he murmured, coming to sit next to the Steve shaped lump again. Carefully, he brought a hand to Steve’s hair and started carding his fingers through, pulling at the mussed-up style until it was slicked backwards, ignoring the grease that came from not showering. “Are you feeling any better?” Steve didn’t answer. What was the answer? “Of course not,” felt like the thing he wanted to shout. But it wasn’t quite true. He sure wasn’t doing any better but he didn’t think he was doing any worse. That’s what happened in these periods of numbness. Good and bad just weren’t on the scale. “This will pass,” TJ assured, though the words sounded unsure in his mouth. “It has to.” When Steve remained in his vigil of silence, TJ just sighed and lay down next to him. “You can always talk to me, you know that right?” He paused. “I know what this feels like and I know…I know I’m no role model to base your actions off. But, just, know you can talk to me.”

Silence.

“Ok. Well, goodnight.” Slowly peeling himself off the bed, TJ changed into a pair of sweats and joined Steve under the covers, ready for when Steve would open his mouth and shout something that wasn’t abuse. Or maybe that was what TJ deserved. Because this sure as hell wasn’t Steve’s fault and maybe the man did have a reason to shout at him. TJ would let him, he always did.

Steve could trample him into the mud and he’d still love him.

Love, as with everything else in life, was a messy thing.

A dangerous thing.

** Wednesday, 23rd April 2014 **

Steve didn't know if he'd slept that night. Whilst he can't remember the night, he didn't seem to remember the pull of sleep either. It gnawed at him: the bags under his eyes, the bone-deep exhaustion, the sinking feeling that he'd been staring at the wall for too long. TJ didn't mention anything though so Steve didn't dwell on it. Instead, he remained in bed, ignoring the curling in his stomach as he managed an apple before sending TJ away with a full cooked breakfast, saying that maybe he'd be hungry later. 

It was a lie and they both knew it. 

TJ then pottered about, flipping through vacuous reality shows with no real direction, carefully keeping an eye on Steve through the archway into the bedroom. Steve felt content to let his eyes drift to the TV but never actually see what was on the screen. 

At lunch, TJ attempted - for the first time since last night - to get Steve to talk. Carefully, almost like he was afraid to spook him, TJ sat on the edge of their -  _ Steve’s _ \- bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Talk about what?”

“Don't play stupid. The not getting out of bed, the not eating, all that crap.” TJ tried to quell the violent irritation but his words came out gritted anyway. 

“It's fine.”

“Fine?! It's not-“ TJ’s eyes suddenly went distant. “Sorry. I-“ Like a slow sweeping wave, uselessness drowned TJ as he looked at Steve. He stared and only saw himself. Saw himself at his lowest, desperate for someone to drag him out of the hole he'd dug for himself. And TJ saw his own hand, only a few years older, trying to grasp at Steve's, only to find his fingers didn't quite reach. He was watching Steve fall, down into the ravine of his own depression and was absolutely helpless. 

TJ had had a script for what he wanted people to say when he went like that again (because he would, he always would). In his sane moments, he deliberated that it was best to tell people what he wanted and to do that, he had to figure that out. And he had. Yet, staring at Steve, the words wouldn't come out, the touches wouldn't translate. TJ was paralysed and terrified. “Never mind.” TJ rushes out, feeling the churning in his stomach that felt like the beginnings of sickness. TJ had long since learnt that it was anxiety playing tricks on him. 

“Are you hungry?” He tried. Steve didn’t even bother answering him this time. If TJ looked close enough, he would be sure for definite the Steve wasn’t listening. His eyes had glazed over, they were the only things visible under the heavy duvet trapping Steve’s body, like they were lost in another place. Away with the fairies, Steve’s mother had used to say when she’d see Steve by the window, daydreaming about playing with the other boys down below, always worsened when he was in a bout of sickness or fever. 

TJ gave up, either way, his whole body sagging with the burden of helping and finding himself helpless. Quietly, he scooted off the end of the bed and shut Steve inside the bedroom, making his own way to the bathroom. It didn’t even excite him anymore when he reached into the cupboard behind the mirror and opened his small chest of miscellaneous jewellery, his precious bags hidden underneath. He felt only the crippling illness of being alone and the hunger to remove it. When it was in his system, he felt numb. When he returned to Steve, he felt no better, only less desperate. When he crawled in beside him, he expected Steve to mention it. The powder he hadn’t bothered to wipe off from under his nose, desperate for the attention or to drive Steve into action. Steve said nothing; Steve didn’t even notice.

TJ just thanked the gods he didn’t believe in that Steve didn’t kick him out that night.

** Thursday, 24th April 2014  **

Steve woke up on Thursday with an energy he couldn’t escape. It bubbled off him like molten lava, pooling around him, burning everyone it touched. There was only one person for it to touch. Steve’s phone was almost hot to the touch with how much it had been vibrating: message after message had been left on there but no one had yet braved the trip to go see him. That left TJ. Poor, poor TJ, facing the lights of Steve’s undivided anger, like a rabbit about to get eaten by the wolf.

For the first time since his outburst on Tuesday, Steve got out of bed, ripping the covers off and prowling into the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge. His stomach felt empty, shrivelling, but there was nothing but soup in there. Snappishly, Steve slammed the fridge door shut and began eating all the snacks he had stored around the house; from protein bars to bananas (awful as they were), he ate it all. TJ watched, unnoticed, as Steve ravenously tore through the apartment, unwilling to stop him in case he stopped. The weight was already beginning to drop off him, the muscle less toned, and whilst Steve could no longer look starved, he could certainly look gaunt.

When Steve finally appeared to be full, his mouth still full and crumbs scattered across his lips, he finally seemed to notice TJ. He stared for a preternaturally long time before turning his back and pacing around the apartment, his feet taking the step quicker than even his mind could comprehend, his footsteps almost leaving print marks behind him as he wore down the wood. TJ watched, trying to look in Steve’s mind so his tongue could escape its paralysis and finally just  _ say _ something but it couldn’t and Steve was still pacing. Until he wasn’t.

He turned with the grace of a prolific assassin (TJ thought it looked like a move he’s learnt from Natasha) and stormed up to TJ until their chests were touching. For the first time, TJ was scared not because he thought Steve was going to leave him but there really, realistically seemed to be a chance that Steve might hurt him. His muscles were taut and his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles were more translucent than white. His eyes burnt like ice-cold fire, the blue vacant of the warmth that seemed to belong there whenever he looked at TJ. 

“This is your fault,” he began, his words forming like a madman’s. “This is what you’ve done. You made them do this, didn’t you? You wanted me to come out so you made them do it. You got them to take the photo. Or maybe you didn’t tell them. Maybe you just knew. Maybe you took me to the window, where you knew they would see us through it. Is that why you took us out? So they’d catch us. Is that what that was? Or maybe you’re just oblivious and that sick enjoyment you’re feeling is just because you finally have someone going through same trauma you did-“

“You know that’s not true-“

“Isn’t it?!” Steve snarled. “You certainly don’t seem very  _ upset _ about this.”

“That’s because I’m not the one who’s been violated-“ TJ tried to argue but Steve was in a tirade now, the words spilling like sick: each time they stopped, more seemed to come up. 

“I seem to be the only one that cares about this! You seem to be happily frolicking through your useless life, doing nothing. I thought the Dome might have helped but clearly you’re as  _ useless as always _ .” Steve was too blind to even realise what he’d said and it was too late to take them back. Whilst TJ might have been scared Steve would hurt him, he hadn’t meant like this. He hadn’t meant that Steve would confirm every theory TJ had ever had about himself. Hadn’t meant that Steve confirmed that he’d known all along how useless TJ was, no matter how desperately TJ tried to bury it. 

Steve turned away and TJ knew from that moment that Steve wouldn’t be able to look TJ in the eye again. He knew that Steve was disgusted every time he saw TJ. Steve had already left by the time TJ might have been close to enough to argue his point but it was futile anyway. What Steve had said was the truth; TJ wasn’t going to deny him.

That night TJ slept on the sofa.

** Friday, 25th April 2014 **

On Friday, TJ finally gave up. He’d tried the entire day to sycophantically suck-up to Steve but was tossed aside once again as Steve spent the day in bed, staring vacantly at his hand, seeing something that TJ knew wasn’t there. TJ felt like crying but the tears wouldn’t come as he packed up his stuff. He didn’t have much; he’d only brought an overnight bag to Steve’s that first night, he’d been living off Steve’s stuff, hoping he wouldn’t mind. Steve didn’t seem to mind his leaving, his eyes shifting only slightly from his place in bed to watch TJ throw his stuff into the bag, his body visibly shaking. He’d do a line when he got home, he deliberated, just to settle his nerves.

Oh yeah, and he was still kidding himself that he wasn’t dependent on the stuff now. 

Looking back one last time, TJ felt his heart break in two. The Steve he saw, with puffy eyes despite never once seeing him crying and messy hair, was the final tipping point. Whilst TJ had always claimed that he was able to separate Steve from his counterpart, and he still thought he could, he didn’t quite realise just how distinct they were. The values he saw in Steve - the righteousness, the stability, the strength - were not Steve’s at all. They were the Captain’s. That didn’t mean that Steve didn’t own them himself but they were forced, pushed. Steve, in truth, was a PTSD-ridden twenty-something-year-old with more issues than TJ could begin to comprehend (and TJ had a lot of issues himself). Where TJ had thought he was righteous, he now realised it was just strong-willed, bent often to what was right but blinded often by Steve’s own humanity. Where he was once stable, TJ realised he was just doing it for TJ’s sake (he was useless, after all, so someone needed to do it). Where he was once strong, TJ now just saw weakness. For a moment, TJ thought he didn’t know who Steve really was.

“Stop staring,” Steve barked, still not meeting TJ’s eye. TJ sighed, unable to prevent the bullet from hitting, and accepted Steve’s anger for what it was. TJ understood the anger, he had it buried in him himself, he just wished that Steve could control it better.

“Goodbye, Steve,” he muttered, wondering if it would be the last thing he’d say to him. He didn’t want it to be. But he didn’t want his last words to be cruel either. This would work, for now.

When the front door finally shut behind him, TJ felt something akin to relief. Whilst the anxiety still squeezed his lungs and left his heart beating rapidly in his chest, Fear’s toxic grip had finally released him. TJ now was desperate for his release from the rest of it: from life, Steve, the dangerously mangled emotions swirling in his head. Vitriol plagued him for a moment as he stared at Steve’s door. He would have to let that go too.

He stopped by his apartment first, did a quick line, and changed into leather pants that stuck tightly to his legs and a shirt that had a few too many undone buttons. It wasn’t a breakup, TJ told himself, but he was sure acting like it was one. He went to the Dome only because the guy he’d made the deal with had allowed him to keep his VIP pass (it kept the visitors coming and stopped the questions), and was quick on the booze. Sobriety was something that TJ had long since given up on and the shots went down with a burn that he revelled in. Soon, he was recalling the events with Steve (no names, still, of course, TJ wasn’t dumb. Just useless) with large gestures as if it were a funny anecdote to a group of touchy-feely men and women. God knows what the women were hoping to accomplish but he let them anyway; he wasn’t really in a place to distinguish gender at the moment anyway. 

In the end, he took a guy and a girl home (a couple, he thought, but he wasn’t sure). The guy was a little too close in looks to Steve and the woman a little too far away but it would do. It made him forget anyway.

He passed out and woke up the next morning with a sick feeling in his chest. Well, he thought, at least I’d forgotten for a while.

** Saturday, 26th April 2014 **

** HAMMOND CAUGHT DRINKING…AGAIN! **

_ TJ Hammond seen on another night of heavy drinking after rumours spread about a relationship with Captain America _

Since a photo was published of the pair on Monday, Hammond has been spotted at his club ‘The Dome’ without the Captain. People are wondering whether this could mean that the couple is struggling under new media pressure. Other rumours have stated that the pair got into an argument at the Captain’s apartment, causing a racket heard by neighbours…

Read more on Hello! Online…

**Sunday, 27th April 2014**

On Sunday, Steve attempted to go to church. There was no rhyme or reason as to why he bothered. He didn’t care about God, not anymore, not after what he caused. And maybe that was petty, and selfish, and meant that the future really was affecting him worse than he thought but he couldn’t believe that God would really punish him like this after all he’d done. He had sacrificed himself, he had been tested by God and he’d saved millions. Now, he believed he had been granted a chance to live again and whilst it didn’t feel like a miracle - not at all - it had been enough to secure his belief in God. But after the tests and tribulations of the last few years, Steve’s faith didn’t stand up. He looked for help in the people around him but the nearly all preached the atheist’s view on religion and he found himself tempted by it.

How could God be all-powerful and let evil reside on earth?

How could God be all-knowing and not know the future of his creations?

How could God be all-loving and send so many people to hell?

Yet here he was, in church.

People stared as he approached. They didn’t wear Sunday best anymore, simply their everyday clothes. The congregation was small, a minority despite Christianity still being the prevailing religion. Plenty of people were faithful nowadays without going to church. And sure, plenty also did, but it wasn’t the same.

He was almost there when the first snap of a camera went off. People quickly ran inside, not wanting to be caught in the pictures that were probably going to spread through gossip magazines. Steve was left alone to face the hoard. The ‘charitable’ Christians had abandoned him and now he couldn’t do anything but wait. The doors were now blocked by cameras, as were all his paths. He was surrounded. His lungs were tight and his heart pounded against his chest. 

He had to get away.

With military precision, his eyes darted to the church. But that would bring more stares and a blocked way home. So, home. He had to get home. “Hi,” he tried to paste on his best Captain America smile, “I’m sorry but I can’t comment right now. I need to get home.” He hoped the smile and false calm in his voice were enough for them to forgive him when he shoved through them, running back home faster than any of them, or even their cars. 

He didn’t run straight home. Instead, he took detours through DC, ignoring the unhidden stares of citizens, all wondering why Captain America was darting through the streets like he was being chased. Were there aliens again? A criminal? Should they run?

Steve ignored their worried glances and kept running, his eyes set determinedly on the horizon as his feet hit the ground, each step grounding him just that little bit more. 

When he finally got home, he was panting, his hands on his knees as he panted. He must have run miles. Sweat was pooling on his temples and under his arms, something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Sweat was usually now just an anxiety response. Then again, he thought, that might not have changed.

Well, there went the church idea.

God had abandoned him, so he would abandon God.

With that, he finally decided what he would do.

** Monday, 28th April 2014 **

15:43: <3

_ I don’t think this is working _

15:45: TJ Hammond

_ Woah _

15:45:

_ that was sudden _

15:46:

_ can we talk bout this? _

15:46: <3

_ It’s over. We had our chances. _

15:47: TJ Hammond

_ No come on _

15:47:

_ you cant do that _

15:50:

_ Steve _


	14. weapon

** Tuesday, 29th April 2014 **

Steve cleared his throat and stood up, the microphone clipped to his shirt feeling all too close. There is a decorative microphone in front of him as well, they said it would look more official. Steve hadn’t had the heart to argue. “I am here to make an official statement for the good people of America.” He was laying it on thick but they said it was forgivable, even helpful, coming from Captain America. “I want to address the photos that have been shown to media showing a suggesting photo between me and another man, namely, Thomas Hammond. I will state now that those photos were fabricated and whilst Thomas and I are friends, I am not a homosexual man.” They’d had said that was the right word to use formally but it felt wrong on his tongue. “I would also like to address the source of the photos. To the man or woman who invaded Thomas’ privacy and violated laws by taking pictures of him within his own home, I will find out who you are and I ask now that you never do something as invasive as taking a picture of someone in their own home. And to the one who fabricated the photo, I have the same message.” The words were awkward and unnatural and it looked like the press knew it but Steve pressed on. This is what happens when you prepare a speech, people. “I apologise to Thomas for being apart of these rumours and to the man that my face has replaced within the photograph, for his privacy was invaded as well.” Steve took a deep breath and added a message of his own onto the end. “I had high hopes for the future but it seems, more than ever, we see the media taking advantage of their importance and power. I am ashamed of them.” He was pretty sure he’d just chopped their profits in half. He’d never felt prouder.

It would only take a day more of media coverage before the photo was forgotten. Steve was a free man. Because who was going to question Captain America? They all loved him, looked up to him and, more importantly,  _ they believed him _ .


	15. everybody gets high

** Thursday, 12th June 2014 **

Flashing lights, garish dancers, and TJ as the headliner. The night was always going to be magical. Men and women on his lap, sycophantically pouring over him like he was a god amongst men. Hyper aware of each touch, his dazed gaze followed the spinning room, the disco light sending stardust around the VIP lounge. Drinks surrounded them, lines were drawn up in front of them. TJ was only one of possibly twenty but he was still the centre of attention. In a fit of drama, he pushed…what were their names again?…off his lap and stood on the table, holding up his bottle dramatically and crying “another” before smashing it onto the floor.

In his mind, he sighed languorously, and let his mind drift back to the internet culture of 2011, back when he’d actually used Facebook, even if it had been more of a failed publicity stunt.

The crowd laughed, all eyes on him, as the lights spun faster. The cheers got louder and the cries got higher. The world tipped on its axis and it was only too late that TJ fell with it.

He hadn’t OD’d, he was sure of it. But then…he looked down to the pile of bottles. Maybe he’d had a little too much to drink.

** Friday, 13th June 2014 **

** TJ HAMMOND GETS STOMACH PUMPED IN HOSPITAL **

_ Socialite and son of Secretary of State, Elaine Barrish, is found in hospital yet again, seemingly after a night of heavy drinking _

It will come as no surprise to most that TJ Hammond is in the hospital again. Since late April, he has seemingly had a penchant for nostalgia and has gone back to the drugs, sex and rock-and-roll lifestyle he’d so loved. It’s been reported that he’s also smoking, though it was unclear if he ever stopped. 

Reports have come in from multiple witnesses that Hammond had drawn ‘impossible’ amounts of alcohol as well as consuming cocaine. At only 11 o’clock last night, he was admitted into the hospital and was forced to have his stomach pumped.

Elaine Barrish refuses to comment on the situation.

Read more about this story on  _ The Mirror Online _ …

*

Steve slammed his laptop shut and tried to calm his ragged breaths. Anger came and went like the switching of a tide, followed by a hollowness that was now as old and familiar as Peggy, followed then by a surprising sadness, twisting itself into his gut. Oh god, TJ. It hadn’t even been two months. Not even two months. Worse than that, this wasn’t the first time he’d seen something like this. Not even close. Over the last two months, there had been a perpetual cycle of newsreels, all screaming ‘Hammond! Hammond!’ like they did everyone who finally fucked up enough for them to be interested. They hadn’t covered TJ’s recovery. They hadn’t-

Well, actually, he had read that article about TJ’s attempts at sobriety. It had even been nice. But it had soon by quelled by the sheer mass of rumours and toxic paparazzi pictures. 

Steve was beginning to realise that it probably wasn’t the media that was the problem.

Maybe it was just TJ.

** Saturday, 14th June 2014 **

Less than a month to the eleventh, TJ thought, and suddenly dread piled in his stomach. It was like a superstition, creeping up on him like a black cat curling around a ladder. It was like, no matter what else had happened, the rest - the  _ bad _ \- would fall on that one day.

And now, less than a month to the eleventh, TJ could feel it reeling him in. Whilst sometimes it came out of the blue, there were times - most of them - where there would be a build-up, a rolling stone, collecting dirt and grass as it rolled down the endless hill and into the depths of hell. He could feel it now. He could feel it as strong as he could feel the sun on his cheeks.

God knew why he was up at this time (midday, impressive). He’d clambered out of bed at ten, having had a mere four hours of sleep, and groggily went through a half-arsed morning routine, had a line and decided, let’s go to the park. There was nothing to explain the urge but now, with the sun beating down on his withered tired skin, he figured he wasn’t going to regret it.

It was this day, less than a month to the eleventh, that TJ decided to stop coke. The last few times, he’d done it for Steve and only for Steve. Before that, it wasn’t even an addiction; he’d stopped  _ using _ simply because, corralled with his mental health, it was pushing him over the edge. Now, he realised he had an even better chance. Because this time he wouldn’t do it because of Steve, he would do it because he  _ loved _ Steve. God, wasn’t that overwhelming. The pleasant buzz under his skin burned with it. He loved Steve so he would quit. Because Steve would want him to. And TJ wanted Steve. Because he loved Steve.

That wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

By eleven that night, TJ was high, far from sober, and about ready to take one too many and just be done with it. His fellow party-goers watched as he clambered loosely onto one of the Dome’s sofa’s, laughing as he missed the first time and had to crawl from the floor. He would have laughed once too. But, tonight, his mind was somewhere else. He didn’t need the sun to remind him this time, nor did he need the spotlights pinning him down. This time he just needed one thought:  _ Steve _ .

He didn’t speak as he stumbled out the door, heralding no-one goodbye, his mind had already trapped himself inside. The streets were a blur. He turned block after block (and god, didn’t Steve’s place look closer on the map, or maybe that was just his state talking) until he spotted the familiar apartment block, standing proudly on the corner, the small detailing of the fashionably-old building a blur to TJ’s watering eyes. “Steve!” He shouted, like a moron, because he’d forgotten what door it was. “Steve!” He shouted again, slurring the ‘v’ so it came out long and dragged. No one inside could hear him, except for a certain man with super-hearing who had the wits to grab his shield before opening the window and peering around the corner to see who it was. “TJ?” He muttered, shaking his head in a concoction of exasperation and shock. Slowly, he fell backwards, ignoring the third “Steve!” (one that the rest of his building must have heard), and dropped his shield before rushing down the stairs and opening the front door.

"Steve!” TJ shouted again, cheerfully grinning at him with open arms this time, his voice a little quieter. “I…I need to talk to you,” he slurred, his vowels dropping and gaining with every other word. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I…I said I want to talk to you,” TJ grumbled, folding his arms as petulantly as a toddler midst-tantrum. 

“You said. But why are you here?”

“Because I want to talk to you!” TJ whined.

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Steve shouted exasperatedly before pinching his nose and taking a deep breath. Why was it only TJ that could make his temper snap like this anymore? He’d pushed it so far down, pasted on that public smile so thickly, yet TJ - my god,  _ TJ _ \- always brought it out of him. “I’m sorry. But I haven’t seen you since April. Forgive me if this is a surprise.”

“I missed you,” TJ blurted, like his mind was on a whole different conversation.

“God, how drunk are you?” Steve whispered. “Look,” he pronounced more clearly, “why don’t you come up to my apartment and we can talk there?”

“Ooooh. Sounds like fun,” TJ grinned. Steve ignored him. Slowly, almost like a puppy, TJ trailed behind Steve until they reached his apartment, ignoring the shocked-looking neighbour carrying a laundry basket. After a lot of grumbling and tripping, Steve managed to herd TJ into his now-fairly-decorated apartment and sit him on the armchair he’d bought back at the very beginning with the man now curled up in it. 

“So, what did you want to say, Teej?” Steve asked carefully, unable to retract his hand as it carefully intertwined in TJ’s hair, gently running it through the knotted strands. It felt like he was being dragged back in time, to a time when he hadn’t lost hope in this game of cat and mouse they were playing, where Steve kept running and TJ kept catching up. Except, just as with everything else in Steve’s life, he lost his self-preservation instinct as soon as the cat caught up and let himself be caught, tangled in the chaotic mess that was it’s Cheshire Cat grin. 

“I…I wanna say sorry. And-and say…I…love you.”

“Teej-“ He sighed.

“No! No. Don’ say that. Say ‘ou ‘ove me too.”

“Come on-“

“No! Say it back!” TJ screamed, caught up in his toddler act that he almost believed it. 

“I love you.” Steve sighed. “And that’s not just because you told me to say it. You know I do. But this isn’t okay. You can’t keep doing this.”

“Do wha’?”

“Coming back. It didn’t work. It hasn’t worked. We’ve had our chance. We’ve had  _ so _ many chances. God, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say. Frankly, if you were sober right now I don’t think I’d say anything of this but you’re hardly going to remember it.” Steve sighed, wiping his hands down his face. “Teej. We’ve had our chance. We can’t do this again.”

“But I ‘ove you! Don’ go. Not again. I love you.”

“We  _ can’t _ .”

“I’ll do better! I promise. I- I’m the reas- we’ve need- so many chance’. I-I kee’ fuckin’ it up. But I’ do be’er, I ‘ill. We can ‘ide so much better and I’ll be sober,” the words were suddenly gaining clarity, like TJ was so desperate to make his point that he would power through the hazy fog that he’d cursed himself with and show Steve how much he loved him. “Because I love you. You don’t deserve to be with me but I’ll do better. For you. I will. The world won’t have to know. It’ll just be us, our little secret. Just please don’t go. Please. I love you.”

“Oh, Teej,” Steve sighed, gathering TJ in his arms and pulling him to the floor, rocking him back and forth as he began to sob: ugly, drunk tears spilling freely. “I’m sorry. We can try again. I won’t leave you.” Steve knew, deep-down, those were the wrong words. Just not for TJ. 

Steve was caught in the Hammond trap, blinded by love so he couldn’t see the consequences. He was in love with a man that looked like the man he’d used to love. He was in love with a man that could reel him back in with just a flash of his sad eyes. He was in love with a manipulator whose addiction drove him to the extremes.

Steve, as physically strong as he was, knew nothing of the emotional danger that addiction could spawn. He knew nothing, despite his research, of what addiction was really like. He knew nothing of how emotional abuse evolved. He knew nothing of how a modern-day relationship was supposed to work.

Maybe this is it, he told himself. Maybe this is it.


	16. we won't

** Friday, 4th July 2014 **

TJ was clean. So, so clean. So clean it hurt. So clean that his muscles tremble and his smile struggled. But he was clean, and Steve was smiling and as long as Steve kept smiling, TJ could keep being clean. And it was Steve’s birthday so he was smiling even more and TJ could keep him happy and he’d even planned a party. A private party, of course. Completely private. None of Steve’s colleagues (they didn’t know about TJ and TJ didn’t want Steve to leave. They’d been together every day now. TJ didn’t think he could stay clean without Steve there). 

TJ had been back with Steve for almost a month now, they were going steady. They were together all the time and Steve was always smiling and Steve was fading less and TJ was craving less (right? He had to be) and he was thinking about Bucky less and he was slowly coming around to visiting Peggy. TJ said he’d go with him, for support. Steve hadn’t seemed so keen on the idea but TJ would bring him around, he would. TJ didn’t think he could allow Steve to go to England without him. Didn’t think he could last that long.

TJ smiled, the smatterings of happiness fading in the nooks and crannies of his features but wide enough that Steve didn’t seem to notice. TJ had just given him a cake, after all. “Happy birthday,” TJ said, his teeth on full display, popping the party popper so that the confetti didn’t fall in the cake. “Blow out the candles.” Only two, stating 96, TJ hadn’t had the focus to put all the candles in. His hands shook a lot.

He wondered if it would ever stop.

Maybe a line would-

“Thanks, TJ, you didn’t have to.”

TJ laughed. “Of course I had to, idiot. It’s your birthday.”

“And the fourth of July. I’m sure you could be with your family.”

“Do I ever want to be with my family?”

“Oh, so it’s not that you want to be with  _ me _ ,” Steve joked, “you just want to get away from your parents.”

TJ hummed and hawed, slowly taking steps towards Steve. “It could be possible. But maybe not. Maybe I just wanted to spend the fourth of July with my  _ boyfriend _ .” 

Steve smiled shyly but didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to, TJ had long since learnt the small smile that appeared every time TJ called him something sweet, like he wasn’t quite used to it yet. 

“Maybe you did.” 

TJ smirked, leaning in to press his lips to Steve’s cheek before motioning to the cake. “Come on, slowcoach, blow them out.”

“Fine, fine, I’m getting there,” Steve huffed, a smile still upturning his lips. Gently, with little more than a silent whistle, Steve blew up both candles before quirking an eyebrow at TJ. “Now can I have what I want?”

“And what’s that?” TJ teased. But, Steve was never the one to wait around and hastily pressed his lips to TJ’s. TJ would never get sick of this. Suddenly, his smile felt real. The trembling faded to mere white noise. The cravings were replaced by other desires. Slowly, the came apart, and TJ smirked. “Guess I am better than cake.” Steve laughed but rifled around the drawer for a knife, cutting into the cake, surprised to see when chocolate oozed out of the centre. “Woah.”

“What, have you never seen one of them?”

“No. God, I’m lucky I have a good metabolism. This modern lifestyle should be making me fat,” Steve laughed, not bothering the plate the slice up before dropping into his mouth, groaning with delight. “Damn, that’s good. Get that for me every birthday.” 

It was said so dismissively, like it was inevitable. Like in a year’s time, there was no doubt that they would still be together. Like in ten year’s time, TJ would still be placing obnoxiously large numbers on Steve’s cake. Like in twenty year’s time, TJ would still be alive.

That in itself was a miracle. 

As long as Steve was around, though, TJ could keep going. Steve could keep him going. Steve’s body was big enough for the two of them, his heart big enough to love TJ when no one else could, his shoulders large enough to carry both their burdens.

“I think I will,” TJ replied, a silent promise on his lips. “For years to come.” The words were a slip, an accident, the ramblings of TJ’s mind translating too quickly to his tongue before he could stop them. He opened his mouth, ready to make an excuse when Steve easily replied, “for years to come,” a promise in itself.

A promise for years to come.

TJ smiled. He’d be alive, as long as Steve was there, for years to come.

**Monday, 7th July 2014**

Tony had told Steve to meet him and the rest of Avengers in New York, an order if Steve had ever heard one. He’d been tempted to shrug Tony off, defy and continue his honeymoon period with TJ, newly clean and still suffering for it. Steve was doing good caring for him; for the first time since waking up, he felt like he had a purpose outside of work. If he could get TJ to be clean - to  _ stay _ clean - then he will have accomplished something. Screw his attempts at doing better, screw trying to scrounge up some old interest in art, screw his attempts at making new friends. If he could help someone, truly  _ fix _ someone, then maybe he could forgive himself for all the people who couldn’t live because of him. 

But, Tony was adamant and, on Monday morning, Tony sent a quinjet to Steve’s street (where it most certainly did not fit) and had Natasha Romanoff glare menacingly at him until he went. He would have pushed if he did not fear her going inside. She didn’t need to be near TJ right now. Or ever, for that matter. The only reason she knew that TJ was with him at all was the multiple attempts at throwing a birthday party until he’d finally admitted that he had plans with TJ. She hadn’t said anything; he had rather she’d ranted at him for an hour. 

“Come on, lover boy,” she shouted from the quinjet’s opening, “you can leave them for a day. The others want to see you.” Steve sighed guiltily. The other Avengers usually met up once a month (bar Thor) and even more between individuals. They trained together when they could and Steve would show up for the training sessions but these… _ hangouts _ did nothing more than set Steve on edge. But, he would admit grudgingly, he probably wasn’t putting his fair share of effort in. 

He’d never been very good at holding onto friends (Bucky was the only one that stuck with him, through good and bad) and he was even worse in group situations and whilst the Avengers felt more and more natural to be with - he had, after all, lived with them for over six weeks - he still felt sidelined by their closeness, something he couldn’t believe they thought he was in. 

“Let me talk to him and pack a bag and then we can go.” She rolled her eyes but waved at him to get on with it, sending him hurrying up the stairs of the apartment, guilt settling easily onto his unsteady heart. Cracking the door open, he spotted TJ on the sofa, mindlessly switching between TV channels, remote not even lifted from his legs. Recently, he’d been finding it really hard to move: said his muscles felt stiff and achy and that his brain didn’t really feel up to it anyway. Steve understood that. “Hi, Teej. I have to go,” Steve mumbled remorsefully, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of TJ’s head. 

“What?” TJ turned slowly, a frown marring his features, “but I just got here.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Natasha is dragging me to New York. I’d say you should come with but…”

“They all hate me. I know.”

“They don’t  _ hate _ you, Teej,” Steve tried to argue.

“They do, you just won’t admit it. It’s fine,” TJ sighed, arduously getting to his feet, “I’ll head home. Say hi to Natasha from me. It might just piss her off.” TJ smirked and collected his stuff from the doorway, waiting for Steve to get his own bag before following him out. 

When they were outside, into the surprisingly-balmy heat of this year’s summer, TJ locked eyes with Natasha before rushing away. Steve didn’t even bother questioning what Natasha had attempted to convey to TJ, he’d soon since given up on trying to reconnect them. He thought back to when he and TJ were new friends, when the Avengers had been so happily curious, and compared it to the new rancour they held towards him. Sadness seeped slowly into him but he ignored it in favour of dumping his stuff in the quinjet and taking a seat. Natasha, surprisingly, wasn’t piloting the jet. Rather, she had chosen to sit back with Steve. Steve was about to ask why when she began.

“Why are you still with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you see what he’s doing, Steve?” Natasha sighed, her eyes suddenly sullen. “I’m being serious here. He’s manipulating you. You ended it for a reason so why the hell are you back together.”

“He’s clean,” Steve argued, though his efforts were futile. 

“Did he tell you that? Because I’m pretty sure he’s told you that before.”

“This time is different.”

“How?” Sometimes Steve wished she would just raise her voice, instead, she reminded him of his mother, stern but quiet, fear-mongering in her calm. 

“He wants to be clean. I can tell.”

“For who, though? He can’t rely on you to get better. He can’t.”

“He’s not. He wants to change.”

“Exactly. Can’t you see that he’s just doing this to have you? As soon as you reach your first hurdle, which you inevitably will, he’s going to go off the rails again. I saw the articles, he’s not changed. He may be thirty but he’s acting like a teenager.”

“Tony was like that when he was thirty and look at him now.”

“He went through a traumatic experience. You really want to fix TJ by getting him kidnapped by a terrorist organisation?”

“Of course not-“

“What you’re doing won’t work.”

“Is that the only reason you’re all dragging me to New York? For an  _ intervention _ ?”

“Stop deflecting.”

“Stop deflecting my deflections.”

“Now you’re just being childish, Rogers.” 

Steve smirked. “What if I am?”

Natasha heaved another sigh. “I forgot how much of a shit you could be.” She paused and took in a breath. “But if you’re going to be like this, I guess I’ll just have to wait.” Natasha left to the cockpit, presumably taking the co-pilot's seat and left Steve to mull in his own thoughts. Trying to fight the rising urge to punch something, he dug his phone out of his bag and texted TJ. It was only a short apology but it made him feel at least marginally better. Five minutes later, TJ texted back his forgiveness and didn’t argue when Steve reminded him of his routine. Trying to keep TJ on routine helped the cravings and with Steve not there in person, Steve would just have to remind him.

Steve spent the rest of the time dazedly staring at the quinjet wall, with a few interjections to text TJ back, until they finally landed on top of Stark (Avengers) tower.

Tony was there to meet them, as per usual. His cocky smirk and large gait unsettled Steve’s already frigid nerves. “Captain No-Fun is back!” Tony declared, his teeth overtaking his smile like they were a shark’s. “And without the boy-toy. Shame.”

“What do you want, Tony?”

“Nothing! Just your company. And, well, I kind of wanted to see whether you’d bring the Teej-meister but here we are so…”

“He was busy.” TJ was most decidedly not busy.

“Shame. Shame. I really wanted a chat with the guy. We all would, really. You know, because of the whole break up thing and then miraculously getting together even though we all know he’s an addict.  _ Etcetera… _ ” 

“Tony-“ Steve sighed but Tony’s tongue was as quick as Steve’s was slow and he’s already picked up his spiel again.

“You know, I actually decided to read the news for once. You know, I don’t like the news very much because of the whole, well, warmonger thing but I decided, why not? And I was scrolling through all the news bits and such and guess what I come across! TJ’s boozy night out. You know he had to get his stomach pumped? The news won’t say but my contacts said there was  _ definitely _ cocaine in his system. And you know what I hear next? The man shows up at your door. Then I hear from  _ another _ source that you’re back together. Do you know how shocked I was?” Tony was laying it on thick now. It was at least partially an act, melodramatic as Tony was ever able to make it, but the sincerity bled through at the edges. “I really didn’t believe it.  _ Captain America _ ?! Had he really fallen so low that he’d gotten back together with the addict  _ again _ .”

“Pepper got back with you, didn’t she?”

“You know what, Rogers,” Tony spat back, anger barely reigned back. His body was shaking and whilst he only came up to just above Steve’s shoulders, he managed to loom. “I want to be mad at you. No, scrap that, I am. And if you keep throwing back your own mistakes at  _ Pepper _ then I am getting that suit and we are settling this once and for all.” Should have known, Tony didn’t  _ really _ care what people said about him anymore (not as much as he used to anyway) but if someone came after Pepper…well, let’s just say, he’d do anything for her.

“Why don’t we go inside,” Natasha suggested, leaving no room for arguments. Both boys followed her, cowed, and greeted the rest of them inside. Wary eyes settled on the group, the anger radiating off Steve and Tony like an oven. “Well, now we’re all here, I think it’s time we continued.”

“Nat-“

“Stop it, Steve. You’re not doing this. We’re worried about you.”

“So this  _ is _ an intervention.”

“Yes. It is,” Natasha replied honestly. She wasn’t going to get through to Steve by lying. “Because we are worried. Why are you with him?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?!”

“He’s an addict! And he’s manipulating you. Can’t you see that?”

“He’s in recovery. And he is  _ not _ manipulating you.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t think that. That’s how this works. But you need to trust us. We’re your friends and we’re not going to watch this happen all over again. You’ve given TJ more chances than I can count, why can’t you just let it go-“

“Because I love him, okay? Is that enough for you?” Steve broke. It was like the words he’d bottled up were finally spilling out. His composure eroded but he was too mad to care. “I don’t care if he’s manipulating me! Because I love him and he loves me and we’re good for each other and if you keep going on like this, I’m leaving.”

“Can’t you see it?” Natasha sighed. “Can’t you see what he’s done to you?”

Suddenly, Clint stood up, his eyebrows furrowed like he was really trying to concentrate on something. Tony immediately took his seat, staring at the outburst like the emotions were as painful as a bullet to his gut. Thor and Bruce kept their eyes downcast. “How many relationships have you been in, Cap?” Clint asked, brows still pinched.

“Why does it matter?”

“Just tell me.”

“Well…there was Peggy.”

“Didn’t you guys just kiss?!” Tony declared incredulously. “I don’t think that counts.”

“I loved her,” Steve hissed, because it was true. One kiss or not, he’d loved her.

“Doesn’t matter, Cap,” Clint continued. “This means TJ is your first and frankly, it’s making you act like a teenager. I get it, you’re young. Younger than any of us ever realise. But that’s not an excuse. I know you love him but that doesn’t make it any better. That’s not what a relationship is about. You say you’re good for each other but from what I can tell, and don’t attack me on this I wasn’t the one to say it, you’re really not. He’s an addict and addicts need to recover for themselves. Clearly, he’s just doing it for you.”

“I’m helping him. I’m giving him a  _ reason _ to.”

“Exactly,” Clint stated calmly: sometimes it was easy to forget how old he actually was. “He doesn’t actually want to. He’s doing it because  _ you _ want it. As soon as you’re gone,” Clint clicked his fingers, “he’s back on it again.”

“What do you know about addiction?” Steve spat, his temper overriding his sense.

“More than you’ll ever know.” His eyes darted to Natasha’s, who nodded and sent him back to his seat. Well, Tony was in that now, but his new one, anyway. He didn’t seem to care that Tony had taken his spot.

“We’re just trying to help,” Natasha said.

“And I’m just trying to help him.” She walked forwards, placing a placating hand on his shoulder and replied “I know, but he needs to help himself first.”

“I just-“ Steve’s words got stuck in his throat; his heart was racing too fast and his head was spinning. “I just-“

“We know. But it’s gonna be alright. Just calm down. You know what,” Natasha added, with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood, “we’ll just find you someone new. You know…oh god, what’s their name. Black hair, works with the PR department…”

“Michelle.”

“Yes! Michelle. She’s good.”

“Not now, Natasha. I need to…I need to think about this.” 

She sighed but nodded. “Okay, Cap. Just don’t go and die on us whilst you are, I think I’m starting to hear your bones creak.”

“Har-har, very funny.”

“You know I am.”

“There is a very beautiful woman on Asgard that I believe Steve would like very much,” Thor interjected and despite the sadness settling in his heart, Steve smiled at Thor’s attempt. It faded quickly afterwards, as the group decided to get started on the meal (ordering takeaway). Steve tried to smile again but it just wouldn’t come. He just had a lot to think about, was all. 

And he needed to talk to TJ.


	17. same drugs

** Tuesday, 8th July 2014 **

Early on Tuesday morning, Steve returned to DC, only passing by his apartment to change before his feet were hitting the pavement at breakneck speed. He ran like a man gone mad, running until he couldn’t breathe anymore and then some. By the time he was finally slowing, the sun was only just rising. Still, no sweat clung to him and he finally accepted that maybe he’d outrun the anxiety and whilst something was still gnawing at the back of his brain, it wasn’t worth settling on now. Instead, still fresh-faced, he began to jog - still faster than any man ever could for prolonged amounts of time - and did his usual DC circuit, watching from the corner of his eye as the sun spilt over the horizon and settled gently onto the dark streets. 

Steve was only three laps in when he saw him. It wasn’t unusual, seeing other joggers, though it was a bit too early. Still, Steve kept his head down, managing to call out an “on your left” to get past him on the narrow track. It was mere coincidence that Steve passed him a second time, calling out another ‘on your left’ for the sake of it: the path was wider now but it tweaked a nerve when the man confirmed: “uh-huh, got it, on my left”. Then, Steve saw him  _ again _ and, come on, it was a perfect opportunity. Smiling, Steve picked up the pace, his lips forming the words but the man had beaten him to it, already calling out angrily “don’t you say it-“

“On your left.”

Well, something good had to happen today.

“Come on!”

Steve was increasingly aware of the man trying to catch up with him so he ran faster, managing two laps before he saw the man again, panting against a tree, looking drenched in sweat as he clutched his stomach.

“Need a medic?” Steve couldn’t help but tease.

“I need a new set of lungs,” the other man quipped, a false sense of gravitas on his face, broken up by a wheezing laugh. “Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

“Guess I got a late start.” It dragged a laugh out of the man again and he joked back, “Huh, really? You should be ashamed of yourself, should take another lap.” He paused and peered at Steve out of the corner of his eye for emphasis. “Did you just take it? I assume you just took it.”

Steve finally got a good look at the man and saw the military insignia on his jumper. His curiosity piqued, Steve asked, “what unit you with?” Steve knew nothing about modern military units but he was sure his old-time knowledge was enough to at least get a grasp of it. At least, if he didn’t, he had the internet now. He was finally getting used to the second nature of looking things up. 

“58th para-rescue…but now I’m working down at the VA.” Steve smiled and nodded, a shameful disappointment making it weaker than he’d meant. It wasn’t really a surprise that the man was out but, well, Steve would have kind of preferred if he had been. Maybe Steve would have someone to talk to about a few things. “Sam Wilson,” the man finally introduced, bringing his hand up and asking for a leg up. Steve complied obediently. “Steve Rogers.”

“I kind of put that together.” Steve’s smile felt faker than ever. “Must have freaked you out coming home from the whole defrosting thing.”

Steve sighed. “Takes some getting used to. But I’ve had help.” He hoped that would be the end of it. “It’s good to meet you, Sam,” he finished when Sam didn’t interrupt. Probably waiting for more. Steve didn’t really want to go into it. 

“It’s your bed, right?” The man interrupted as soon as Steve’s back was turned.

“What’s that?”

“It’s your bed, it’s too soft. When I was over there, I slept on the ground, used rocks for pillows like a caveman. Now I’m home and in my bed and it’s like-“

“Lying on a marshmallow,” Steve finished, that small of spark hope kindled. “Felt like I was going to sink right through the floor.” Their eyes met for a second and Steve was sure that Sam had heard the obvious use of past tense but they smiled and he almost couldn’t help the small, choking laugh that escaped him, his smile widening when Sam did the same. 

“How long?” Steve asked. Sam seemed like a nice guy and, well, maybe…maybe Steve did need some more friends. 

“Two tours. You must miss the good old days, huh?” Sam teased but Steve felt his heart sink again. He knew Sam didn’t mean anything bad by it but…

“Well, things aren’t so bad. I mean, well, there was the whole thing with…”

“The photo?”

“Yeah, the photo. The fabricated one. You guys love the internet but it’s-“

“Lotta shit can happen, man, you were just unlucky to have it happen to you.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“So, hey, now you’re making me feel bad. There must be some good stuff.”

“Yeah, there is. Food is better. I mean, Asian food, hadn’t even heard of noodles. Medicine’s got better. No polio, that’s good. And even with the whole…bad internet stuff, it’s been helpful. Been using it a lot to catch up.”

Sam stood still for a moment and for a second, Steve thought he might just have said something wrong but a conspiring smile slid onto Sam’s face and he said, “Marvin Gaye, 1972, Trouble Man soundtrack. Everything you missed, jammed into one album.” Steve smiled and nodded, getting out his notebook and scribbling it under the rest of the most recent recommendations. “I’ll put it on the list.”

Before he could even put the notebook away, his phone buzzed. Curiously, Steve looked at the newest text and suppressed sigh. “Alright, Sam. Duty calls. Thanks for the run.” He paused. He couldn’t help it; he really couldn’t. It was just- “if that’s what you want to call running.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?”

“Ooh, that’s how it is.”

“Okay,” Sam laughed, shaking Steve’s hand. He had a surprisingly strong grip but, well, he was a soldier. Steve felt his heart warm for a second. Another soldier, the first one he’d met in years. The first proper one, anyway. It was- well, Steve couldn’t help the smile. And if he thought Sam’s smile was really nice, he wasn’t going to mention it.

“Any time you want to come by the VA and make me look good in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know.” Now he  _ really _ wasn’t going to mention it. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Natasha rolled up and Steve wasn’t surprised by the speed. She always seemed to know where he was; probably had a tracker on him but he didn’t bother looking. “Hey fellas,” she called, rolling down the window on the overtly-sleek car. Steve wondered what the ostentatious look was for. “Either one of you know where the Smithsonian is, I’m here to pick up a fossil.” 

“That’s hilarious,” Steve sighed, unable to hide the vitriol in his voice. He hadn’t really recovered from yesterday’s ordeal yet. She may have been right but…

“How you doing?” Sam flirted as Steve shut himself in the car. Yep, definitely not telling him. 

“Hey,” she flirted back and Steve couldn’t help adding “can’t run everywhere,” if it would just put Sam’s eyes back on him. 

Fuck.

“Who you kidding?” Well, maybe he could…

No.

Natasha drove them to SHIELD HQ and there they went through the ritualistic preparation that occurred before any of their missions. Natasha wasn’t exactly a regular but he worked with her a hell of a lot more than the rest of them. 

By the time they were on the jet, he and Natasha had reached a truce. Nothing had been outright wrong but the casualness of the whole interaction had maybe cleared Steve’s heart a bit. Enough that she felt confident to tease him. Even suggest a date.

That reminded him, he’d have to cancel dinner plans with TJ tonight.

After that, he’d actually have to talk to him.

Definitely fuck.

** Wednesday, 9th July 2014 **

The letters danced in Steve’s vision, taunting and merry. The words were obsequiously respectful, formal beyond anything Steve deserved. “Best friends since childhood, Steve Rogers and-“ Steve walked away before the voiceover could finish, his rolling gut churning, his throat tightening at the possibility of sick. Grief washed over him more than it had even when he’d gotten out of the ice. For the first time since 2012, Steve thought he could really say what grief felt like. For the first time since 2012, it had finally caught up. He remained stoic and straight-faced through Peggy’s video but couldn’t help it when he brought out his old compass, his thumb tracing the metal edge, ignoring the pain when it passed over the slight dent that had led to a sharpened corner and bleeding thumbs. God, Bucky had complained. Then again, he’d complained even more about Peggy so…

Steve looked at the old, fraying picture and then up to the video where her face was so familiar but her style so distant. Steve loved both of them. And Steve sure as hell hadn’t stopped loving her now. 

He’d made up his mind before he was even aware of it.

Pulling out his phone, he prepared himself to let down TJ yet again. Although, his heart couldn’t quite feel bad about it yet. TJ had betrayed him subtly, behind closed doors, in a way that apparently only Steve’s friends could see. And they were that, friends, he could admit that now. It was time he started trusting him because, when it came down to it, that was their jobs.

’I’m going to see Peggy,’ he typed out slowly, wondering whether the wording was wrong but pressing send nonetheless. Within seconds, TJ had answered, as if he’d been staring at his phone just  _ waiting _ for Steve to message. ’Great!!! want company?’ Steve sighed and replied, ‘not today.’ He ignored anything that TJ could have sent back and escaped the museum, though he couldn’t help but tease the young child that was staring up at him before he left through the main doors. The fear that his paranoia about TJ was misguided was shrouded by the suffocating grief that smelt distinctly like French perfume and satin and looked eerily like red lipstick. Yet, even with the crushing weight of loss on his chest, he smiled as he straddled his motorbike. He was going to see Peggy again! She was even in DC. Apparently, after her husband died (she had a  _ husband _ , even children!), she had wanted to escape England and with her slow loss to dementia, it was easier for her to be in the care home in DC, nearest to her closest relatives, namely her oldest daughter Elsie. For a moment, Steve was yet again crushed by the idea that Peggy’s children were not here but the breeze blew it away like a candle in the wind.

Until he saw her.

Old, wrinkled, no satin or perfume, no red on her lips. Beautiful. In a funny way, he noted, untraditional. In a way that stank of nostalgia and memory. So much so that the conversation started stilted; Steve took the time to readjust his view, tried to drag himself out of the past. By the time he was sitting down, he felt more settled, though an unrelenting sadness threatened him. His eyes caught on the photo frames by her bed. Peggy and…two children, a boy and a girl, all smiling in that posey way that you did for a photograph. But she really did look happy, you could see it in her eyes, or at least content. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her like that. She had always been striving for more, for better, but at some point, she’d settled down. Whilst he hid away, she had trudged on through life and made the best of it. “You should be proud of yourself, Peggy,” he said.

Peggy’s eyes followed his, crinkled and watery, until they landed on the photos. She hummed thoughtfully. “I have lived my life,” she started, like she could read his mind. “My only regret is that you didn’t get to live yours.” Steve didn’t know what to say. He peeled his gaze away from her and settled for somewhere in the middle distance, trying to avoid the inevitability of her advice. Peggy was always giving advice, and she was almost always correct. Steve had long since learnt that; he’d also long since learnt that he often didn’t want to hear it.

“What is it?” She asked, surprising him.

“For as long as I can remember, I just wanted to do what was right.” Steve thought of TJ, thought of the decision he had to make, thought about what Peggy would think if she knew that Steve had been with a  _ man _ . He thought of the hellicarriers he’d been shown, the promise of mass murder hidden beneath a veneer of protection. It wasn’t black and white anymore. Maybe TJ was manipulating him but maybe it wasn’t Steve’s job to walk away, or maybe it was Steve’s job to help. Maybe the hellicarriers really would save lives, maybe they wouldn’t be used as killing machines. They just had to be in the right hands. “Guess I’m not quite sure what that is anymore.” Steve’s mind travelled back to the war, found the screaming mass in his head that he hid behind locked doors and thought ‘at least I knew what to do’. “And I thought I could…throw myself back in, follow orders, serve.” He looked at Peggy and saw that bright lipstick again. For a moment, he smiled. “It’s just not the same.” There’s no  _ you _ . He wanted it back. He wanted Peggy, and Bucky, and the Howlies, and even bloody Howard. Well, maybe not, Tony had slowly been changing his opinion on the matter. But, he thought, if he saw him, cocksure and smiling, he would give him a hug as well as a punch. 

Peggy laughed, though her frail lungs could barely hold it: it wracked her body, her chest flailing like a fish out of water. Steve thought of her old laugh, loud as it was rare. He missed that too. “Always so  _ dramatic _ .” He smiled: it wasn’t the first time she’d said it. She had always been the rational one, an optimist but rational. Steve had always been a little more reckless, relying more on his faith than the plan. And, no matter what, he’d always had a propensity towards subconscious dramatics. “You saved the world. We rather…mucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he said with the usual surety. This was Peggy; she would never do something like that. He didn’t think she could. “You know you founding SHIELD is half the reason I stay.” 

Steve panicked when Peggy took his hand, grasping it like it was her last time and muttered “the world has changed. None of us can go back. All we can do is our best and sometimes the best you can do is to start over.” She broke out into coughs, more violent than her laughter and even more dangerous. Steve rushed to get a glass of water and held it out to her, his eyes unwittingly pitying. 

She paused.

Steve broke because he knew as soon as she said it, as soon as she murmured the first “Steve”, that she’d forgotten.

She'd forgotten.

He tried to smile but from then on, it never quite reached his eyes. For a moment, he saw it somewhere else. He saw it on TJ’s face. For a moment, he saw him forgetting. Steve was suddenly cast out at sea, wrapped in the warped imagination of an overactive mind. He saw the blankness in those grey-blue eyes. He saw the emptiness.

He saw nothing.

*

Steve kicked out the leg on his motorcycle and swung his leg over, placing two firm feet on the ground. Despite this, he felt anything but grounded. His head reeled and images flashed before his eyes. It hadn’t happened in so long but he saw…

War. Murder. Blood.

A gun in his hands, a finger pulling the trigger.

A plane diving into the Arctic, a soft voice over the speaker.

And he heard Bucky scream as he fell into the guts of an icy ravine: never found. Dying alone. Blood marring his face, body mangled and…

Steve’s imagination was taking him away again.

Steve stared at his apartment, blocking out the afternoon sun behind it. His gut churned at the thought of going in; he was sure if he did, he’d never come out again. Sighing, he dug out his phone and tried to think of someone to call but the notification on his lock screen screamed at him. TJ wanted to see him.

He wasn’t ready for that yet.

He wasn’t ready for anything.

His feet set off before him, taking him further into the DC area, winding through alleys and streets alike. He let the commotion overcome him, swallowing him whole and hiding him in the belly of the hubbub. He swayed with the crowd and let himself be dragged down the streets, his eyes downcast and his hands tucked steadfastly in his pockets. 

Steve had reached his eighteenth intersection when he remembered: ’any time you want to come by the VA’. Steve didn’t stop to think, rushing down the streets to the VA (he had always known where it was, and he’d always chosen not to go), keeping his cap pulled low over his face so no one stopped him.

The corridor was vacant when he entered, the sun slipping through the back doors to reveal the oak wood and plain linoleum tiles. Steve drifted for a moment before a woman’s voice stuck out from the silence. Like a sailor to a siren’s call, his feet dragged him forward. It was all too easy to see what was going on once he was faced with it: this was a group session, and Sam was the lead. The woman stopped talking, but her words stuck. It was like a distorted mirror; Steve understood, he empathised, but it was all on the inside for him. For her to be saying things like this aloud, it seemed…wrong. But the bravery it took to reveal you had an episode (a  _ mistake _ , a stupid one, he thought, the kind that he would make) to a bunch of strangers (or so he assumed) seemed unimaginable to him.

Everyone called Steve brave but when it came to matters of the mind, Steve knew he was anything but. He knew the mask he put on. He knew how stoic he looked to the outside world. He knew…

“Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back. It’s our job how to figure out how to carry it. Is it going to be in a big suitcase? Or in a little man-purse. It’s up to you.” 

Steve didn’t know what happened after that but he came back to himself as the woman who’d spoken bade Sam farewell, leaving them alone in the corridor. “Look who it is,” Sam teased, walking towards him, “the running man.”

“Caught the last few minutes,” Steve admitted, “pretty intense.” Too intense for me.

“Yeah, well, we all got the same problems. Lost, guilt, regret.” And wasn’t that a jab and a half but Sam was trained, his face betrayed nothing. Nor did his actions. Maybe Steve was being paranoid. Maybe Sam just knew because…

Oh.

“You lose someone?”

“My wingman. Riley.” Steve didn’t understand how he could even say the name aloud. He couldn’t. “Flying a night mission. Standard PJ rescue op. Nothing we hadn’t done a thousand times before. ’Til an RPG knocked Riley’s dumb ass right outta the sky.” Sam looked away a moment but somehow, almost naturally, they came back to Steve’s. “Nothing I could do. It was like I was up there just to watch.”

Steve wanted to scream.

How could Sam just…tell people that.

Why…why couldn’t Steve?

“I’m sorry,” he said instead.

“After that,” Sam continued (Steve wanted to scream stop whilst praying him to continue), “I had a really hard time finding a reason to be over there, you know.” Steve didn’t know. He had this trauma he guarded with his heart, visions of murder, of death, of  _ Bucky’s _ . Yet he wanted to go back. Because he never chose to leave.

“You happy now?” He asked, not quite meeting Sam’s eye. “Back in the world?”  _ I’m not. _

“The number of people giving me orders is down to about,” Sam looked around the room mockingly, “zero. So hell yeah.” His smile beamed; Steve almost felt blinded by it. Yet, like the sun, he found himself staring at it anyway. “You thinking about getting out?” The question caught him off guard, despite its inevitability. Sam had shared his own story, the best Steve could do was give him some of his own.

“No. Not now. But…” He wanted to fight but SHIELD…

He didn’t know who’s side they were on.

But he thought back to before. Back when he did random missions, ones he could barely call a job. He thought back to the claustrophobia of his apartment’s empty walls. He thought of trying to save TJ and having him constantly slip out of his grasp. He thought of trying to get out but finding his limbs wouldn’t move. He thought of watching an oncoming car and thinking it was a tank.

He didn’t tell anyone about that.

“To be honest, I don’t know what I would do with myself if I did.”  _ There’s my little snippet, Sam. There’s my honesty _ . 

“Ultimate fighting?” Sam joked. Steve’s smile was just a subconscious reaction. Sam was funny, even if his ideas were not. “Just an idea off the top of my head!” Sam defended. “You could do whatever you wanted,” he declared. “What makes you happy?”

Damn Sam and his sensible questions.

“I don’t know.”  _ TJ _ , he thought. Bucky…

And now they were both gone. Or about to go. Steve really needed to get sorted out. Then and there, he decided he would talk to TJ. He’d sort this out once and for all. He’d finally talk about this all…

Then Nick Fury went and got shot.


	18. when i see you again, i am torn apart

** Thursday, 10th July 2014 **

TJ’s fingers fumbled on the keys but the words wouldn’t form. The line of grey trailed down his screen, a stream of texts all left unanswered. Did Steve even still have his phone? God, was Steve even still alive? Steve always answered…

Slamming his phone down on the table and slamming his fist down on the armrest, he finally found the wits to get the remote and turn on the TV. The news was going  _ mental _ .

** STEVE ROGERS: FUGITIVE. IF FOUND, CALL- **

TJ switched it back off, his breath coming in hard, heavy pants as panic bubbled up to the surface and ran out his eyes like tears. Steve-

It was almost midnight, the clock approaching 12 like a bomb’s countdown. The 11th was coming, the 11th was coming and Steve-

Steve was a fugitive.

TJ was too scared to turn the news back on. He didn’t want to know what had happened. But, he didn’t believe it. Steve-

His phone was at his ear, his mum’s number already dialled. “Steve, he’s-“

“He’s a fugitive, TJ, and it’s not your problem anymore. We are working on finding him-“

“He’s innocent!”

“That’s not what the rest of the intelligence world thinks, TJ. Be objective about this.”

“He’s-“

“We need to find him. Whether he’s innocent or not,” his mother allowed.

“We have to help him,” TJ choked, his voice coming out a raspy whisper, almost a sob.

“We need to find him first.”

“But-“

“No buts.” TJ gaped, his finger hanging up before his mind could even process it. His hand fell to his lap, phone still clutched in his fist. With a piercing shriek, he threw it at the wall, his arm aching with the force of the throw. “He’s innocent!” He told no one. “He is. He has to be,” he whispered to himself, the tears flooding unwillingly over his cheeks. “He has to be.”

** Friday, 11th July 2014 **

23:08: Unknown Number

_ Do not reply to this number. It’s Steve. The Winter Soldier is Bucky, SHIELD is Hydra. I am innocent. He may be coming for you. I don’t know if you’re a part of this, or if they know about you. Stay safe. Hide. I love you. I’m sorry if I don’t see you again. _

I’m sorry if I don’t see you again.  _ ’I’m sorry if I don’t see you again _ . TJ’s lip shook, as did his body. The line was already in his system and the walls were closing in. The shutters were locked and closed, the blinds down, the curtains drowned. The door was triple-locked, the bathroom door sealed. No windows in here. TJ stared at the sink, at the white residue left on the clean porcelain. 

He howled.

The sobs did not come quietly; they wracked his body, contorting him into a curl of misery, his head hanging between his knees as he held back sick as his heaving gasps contracted his throat. 

This was inevitable. This day, every year. What else had he expected? A happy ending? Did he really expect for Steve to love him, to hold him? Did he really expect Steve to  _ fucking live _ ?

He gasped and rushed to the toilet, the vomit coming out just as he leant over, spraying the white with bile and yesterdays granola bar. Thick chunks scratched his throat as the bile burned. 

I’m sorry if I don’t see you again.

Steve, the man he loved, the one man he cared about, might not come back. Probably wouldn’t. Who said a goodbye,  _ an apology _ , if they really expected to come back. Tears flooded into the sick, curdling like spoilt milk, making TJ gag all over again. His stomach was in knots and the blow was leaving him raw, his nerves jagged and sensitive. He was floating in a cloud of his own misery. It wasn’t dulling the pain like it was supposed to now, it was only dulling the pain that came in between fixes. Only dulling the cravings.

He’d have to do another one soon.

Steve wouldn’t like that.

But Steve wasn’t here to stop him.

But Steve wouldn’t like that.

But what could he do?

But Steve wouldn’t like that!

TJ clambered to his feet and stared in the mirror, scratching at the light shadow of a beard over the lower half of his face. His hand fell and clutched the edge of the sink. He should do a line, he really should.

But Steve wouldn’t like that.

Instead, he sat on the toilet, locked away from the world, wondering if anyone would come to get him. Wondering if Steve would come to get him. For a moment, he felt doubt. But this was Steve. Steve would always come to rescue him. Steve would always save him. Steve would always be the one to come and get him.

_ I love you, Steve. More than you could ever know. _

** Saturday, 12th July 2014 **

“Because I’m with you…’til the end of the line.” The punches ravaged him; his bones cracked and his blood spilt. For a moment he felt doubt. He wouldn’t survive him. But this was Bucky. Bucky would always be at his six. Bucky would always protect him. Bucky would always come back.

_ I love you Bucky. More than you could ever know. _


	19. send them off

** Tuesday, 15th July 2014 **

Steve woke up slowly, the darkness fading slowly into light as he blinked blearily. The hospital room gathered at the edges of his vision and seeped inwards like wet ink, revealing the pale greens and whites of the room. And Sam.

The music seeped in next: unfamiliar but soothing. Quiet, distant, but there, reminding Steve he was alive.  _ There was a real chance he wasn’t going to be _ . “On your left,” he mumbled, his throat scratchy and unused. Sam smiled, his eyes glancing up to Steve. “Good to have you back. Didn’t think we were for a while.”

“‘M sorry,” Steve attempted but the words were slurred and thick. Sam got the gist, though.

“Man, it’s fine-“

“No…” he struggled to continue, “’s not. I…should’…known. SHIELD wasn’t right from the…start.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Steve didn’t bother to answer. It was. His fault, he meant. It was his fault. He thought of the bomb in Greenville. He thought of the loss of life. He wondered how many of his agents were Hydra. He thought about how many people could be saved if he’d figured it out sooner. He wondered if that was just SHIELD.

“How’r you?” Steve mumbled.

“Not bad. Car’s not doing well but-“

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Bucky’s m’responsiblity. Sorry on ‘is behalf.”

“I still can’t believe he’s alive.” Sam shook his head incredulously. 

“Neith’ can I.”

“You are going to let me in right now or else I am sending the Secretary of State after your sorry ass.” Someone shouted from outside. TJ…of course.

“Who’s that? Do I need to get rid of him?” Sam asked. Steve shook his head weakly. “No. Let him in.” Sam narrowed his eyes and let his confusion show but strode to the door and ushered TJ in, assuring the guards that it was fine. 

“Steve!” TJ shouted, taking Sam’s seat without hesitation and grabbing Steve’s hand. “Don’t ever do that to me again.” Steve looked over and almost reeled back at the chaos he saw. Followed by a sinking sensation of disappointment. Dilated pupils, buzzing energy…TJ was high.

Natasha had been right.

Fuck.

“TJ-“ Steve gasped but the words didn’t seem to come.

“You gonna introduce us?” Sam cut in, cutting the tension with a knife and diverting their attention.

“TJ Hammond,” TJ introduced himself, holding out his hand. 

“You’re!” 

“Not now…Sam,” Steve interrupted, though he wasn’t actually sure what Sam was going to say. Although pretty much all the options were bad. ‘TJ…this is Sam…Wilson.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You…too,” Sam replied stutteringly. 

“How do you know Steve then?”

“Oh, we met running. Then he visited me down at the VA.” 

TJ span on his feet, broken confusion marring his features. “You didn’t tell me you were going to the VA.”

“It was once.”

“But-“

“Not now, TJ.” Steve’s voice was slowly piecing together, his throat getting used to the sensations. 

“No. I want to talk now, Steve. Because you sent me a text saying you were dying and that the guy that looks kinda like me is somehow alive and now I find out you’re hiding shit from me. When did this happen, Steve?”

“I’ll talk to you when you’re sober,” Steve spat venomously, a low blow. Sam didn’t seem to know where to go, trapped in trying to save Steve whilst wanting to escape the conversation clearly not meant for him. For God’s sake, Sam didn’t even know why TJ was here. Or their relationship.

“I  _ am _ sober.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Steve shouted, glad that Sam finally hurried out, before breaking into a wheeze. “Just don’t.”

“Steve-“

“No. I’ll talk to you when you’re sober.”

_ And end this. I will. _

“I’m sorry.”

“Not now.”

“I didn’t mean to! It was just one slip. It won’t happen again.”

“How many times have I heard that?”

“This is because of him, isn’t it?” TJ suddenly spat. “You found out Bucky was alive and now you don’t care about me. Is that it? Because I was just the closest you could find to his face?”

“No-“ How did TJ always turn the guilt on him?

“Then what is it? We were doing good, Steve.”

_ I need to end this. _

“It’s just…”

_ But I never can. _

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I forgive you. I just need…rest.”

“Oh! Of course.” TJ fumbled and tried to tuck him in. “But we’re okay?”

“Of course.”

_ Why am I lying? _

“Good.” TJ pressed a soft kiss to his lips, eyes darting to the window but no one was there apart from the door guard, who faced the other way. Where was Sam? “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

_ I do. I really do. But when tomorrow comes around, I know I'll love someone else too. _

* * *

**END OF PART 2**

* * *


	20. losing my religion as i leave

* * *

_ **PART 3: CURRENTLY ON OTHER PEOPLE'S HEARTACHE** _

* * *

** Friday, 18th July 2014 **

The summer sun beat down onto the grave, Fury’s name lovingly engraved into the stone. Ironic, really, that such care went into something so pointless. Or, well, maybe not. If it was letting Fury operate, getting rid of the remnants of Hydra on the way, then it was as important, if not more, than any other grave. Sam waited patiently as Steve fidgeted, his hand darting to his phone every now and then, just in case. 

Natasha was long since gone and time was wearing down. The grass started to rattle in the wind, the trees rustling ominously above their heads. The clouds were parting, at least, and the thin coverage of grey had been washed away by a tide of blue. It left Steve calmer.

“You know, I really didn’t expect to be coming to grave today,” TJ quipped as he appeared on the path. Steve stared him down, carefully examining his features. Not high. A relief, really. This wasn’t a conversation to have when TJ was out of it. “But my condolences,” TJ added quickly, like he just realised the abruptness of what he’d said. Steve didn’t exactly care. It wasn’t like he was mourning. And dear God, didn’t he know what that felt like.

“Thank you,” Steve replied as solemnly as he could.

“Hi, Sam,” TJ waved, garnering nothing but a nod from Sam. Looking put out by the sour mood, TJ’s shoulders sagged, his leather jacket pulling at his shoulders. Steve had always thought it was too small but TJ seemed to have an attachment to it so Steve hadn’t made a comment.

“So, why am I here?” God, TJ was smiling again, powering through whatever internal battle he’d made. It made Steve’s heart sink which, in a vicious cycle of events, made his heart sink further. He’d miss that smile. But it was time to let it go. Just another thing to mourn then; maybe he wasn’t so free of that after all.

“I’m going after Bucky,” Steve announced, his fingers clutching onto the file like a lifeline, unwilling to let it go. If he remembered he was out there, suffering, it would make this a whole lot easier. 

“You’re…is that a good idea?” TJ looked scared. Real, actual,  _ palpable _ fear. Steve couldn’t tell whether it was the fear of being abandoned, or of Steve being injured again or both, even. “He tried to kill you.”

“He pulled me from the river. He’s in there somewhere. I need to find him.” Steve looked away, unable to meet TJ’s eyes. “I need to help him.”

“Well, um, do you have any leads?”

“Not yet.” Apart from the file. Not that it would get them very far. No locations, no places, nothing. Just a record of the torture Bucky endured whilst Steve lay peacefully in the ice. The torture endured whilst Steve frolicked about with a man with Bucky’s face. Oh god, he was going to be sick.

“So…so why don’t you stay here?” TJ asked desperately. “I heard your apartments not really an option now so come to mine. You can work from there. We can be together.” TJ’s smile was fraying at the edges, like he knew that answer.

“He’s out there, TJ. I need to go get him. I’m sorry.”

“No.” TJ huffed. “Don’t be. It’s what I thought.”  _ You were always going to put him above me _ . With the weight of rejection on his back, TJ waved his goodbye, muttering a futile “text me”, before turning his back and trudging back to the gravel path, his crunching footsteps fading as he left.

Sam didn’t speak, giving Steve his space, pulling out his phone and scrolling distractedly through his text thread with his sister. Meanwhile, Steve found himself in front of the grave again, eyes tracing alongside the cracked edge of the stone. Steve wondered how it had frayed so quickly.

He didn’t like graves, never had. The first time he’d gone to his mother’s, he had been so broken inside that the flowers he’d brought her with the little he had left in his pocket had been crushed in his small fists. Bucky hadn’t been with him that time, but he’d been there for all the rest. When Steve was at his lowest, Bucky was there. Always. Until the end of the line. And now Steve had to be there for him.

Steve stepped closer to the grave, staring at every little detail like it might just hold a clue Fury hadn’t told them. He was like that. But all Steve could see was the American flag, a quote, and a name. No loving father or husband or son. Alone. Steve wondered whether Fury had ever had someone. 

This grave was nothing like his mother’s. It was more expensive, for a start, but it lacked the personality of a family member in mourning. Lacked care, or even sadness. There was no cross on his, no promise of an afterlife. Fury wasn’t religious, wasn’t even dead, but sometimes human’s put their last hope out onto whatever came next. Steve didn’t think he could anymore. In one hand he held torture, in the other nothing but a vacant emptiness. His heart had been hollowed out by a letdown smile of a man he’d let go, and his brain dulled by the agony of the words he’d read. 

He hoped, for a moment, that finding Bucky would change that. He didn’t think it would. There was no redemption for him now. He’d fallen into sin and lost god on the way. He loved a man -  _ men _ , if he was honest with himself - he murdered, he pushed people away, he let himself go. He lost his charitable heart. He lost what care he had left.

He was a man hollowed out.

_ Sorry, Erskine. You said I would become a better man. I think I’m finally realising that, no matter what, the Serum will only ever make you worse. Power seems to do that. _

“You know,” Sam interrupted, tucking his phone away. “This whole operation is going to be made really hard if there are even more doppelgängers running around.” 

It surprised a laugh out of Steve. “They’re not that similar.”

“Whatever you say, man.”

_ But I’m going to do one good thing with it, Doc. I’m gonna find him and I’m gonna make up for all he’s lost _ .


	21. in the winter of our youth, what i need is control

** Sunday, 21st September 2014 **

TJ could have laughed. Could have belly-laughed if he thought he was still capable. What was the date again? Oh, yeah,  _ September _ . Late September. And when had Steve last texted? Early August. TJ felt the righteous fury boil in his blood but with nowhere for it to go, he was left aimless. If not for some flimsy attachment to sobriety for Steve’s sake, the blow would have been in his system as of months ago. Instead, he fell onto the sofa, the soft fabric a treasure on his skin (a large improvement from the leather monstrosity he’d had before). Fury soon gave way to simple frustration. TJ knew he couldn’t keep going like this, clinging onto a relationship that had now devolved into monthly texts (immaterial ones at that). Steve was dragging TJ along as he went to find TJ’s replacement. Well, TJ was second so maybe  _ he _ was the replacement. Then again, Steve never really mentioned Bucky and the nature of their relationship was…well, questionable.

TJ would have preferred for Steve to just be outright. TJ was scared of the inevitable rejection, down to his core. He didn’t want Steve to leave him. But, at least if it happened now, he wouldn’t worry so much. It’d be over with and TJ could go back to his party life, live another year or so before finally giving in.

He was ambitious like that.

If this was going to work, like they were pretending it might, TJ needed a little more than participation. He needed more than these monthly texts. He needed to see Steve, face to face. Something that hadn’t happened since the Chitauri Attack memorial in July, and that wasn’t exactly the time to have a reunion.

TJ didn’t hold out any hope.

Instead, he mutedly turned on the TV, illuminating the dark space with an irascible blue. TJ wondered where Steve was to be sending a message so late. Different time zone? Or did the man just sleep anymore?

TJ wished he would come back. TJ would take care of him. He would. He’d never really done that for anyone before but…he would. For him.

Finally, TJ opened his phone and read the message. ‘I’m okay.’ Oh, if TJ could have laughed earlier, he could explode now. No ‘hello’. No ‘how are you’? No ‘I miss you’. Just a statement, an affirmation. TJ didn’t know what he was even supposed to say to that.

Thick tears clouded his eyes but didn’t roll as he rapidly blinked them back. The TV powered onwards, ignoring TJ’s blight. TJ’s heart raced in his chest and his breath came quick. Trying to settle down, he pulled a soft, velvet cushion to his chest, letting himself feel his breath as his chest pressed up against the fabric. 

He couldn’t calm down.

It was like the walls were closing in. He wanted to scream; why was it so sudden? Why was it always at the moment he didn’t expect it? The silence echoed. This place he called home now felt like an empty house, filled with the ghosts of his antagonistic thoughts. The fear perpetuated the anxiety and he found himself tumbling into a panic attack. He breathed through the panic until he found himself balancing on the edge of something worse. He was practised at this now. 

He didn’t really have panic attacks. He was lucky like that. His anxiety made him suffer differently. Not uniquely. Just differently. He found himself muddled and confused, emptied out and hollowed with no rhyme or reason. 

The only thing keeping him sane was the darkness. Whilst poisoned by his mind, it hid the glaring emptiness of it all. He could pretend that Steve was just around the corner. That he would come behind TJ and wrap him in his arms, whispering sweet nothings in his ears. He could pretend that Steve was in the bedroom, waiting for TJ to clamber into his arms.

He could pretend that his heart wasn’t collapsing.

It was melodramatic, he knew. Something that was reserved for teenagers in their worst moments. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? TJ had never really grown up. Ever. He was stuck in this perpetual loop of a childhood he could never escape. His mother still acted like he was a surly teenager, trying to rebel in any way he could. (Maybe he was). His father talked to him like he was still a  _ child _ , for God’s sake. Nana was the only one who’d ever looked at him and tried to see the grown man behind it. But even TJ would admit that he was regressing. Any progress he’d made on the way to thirty was being undone by the slow torture of what was surrounding him. His and Steve’s toxicity felt like the earliest of TJ’s relationships. The inescapability of it all felt even closer to home. The politics that he still stood on the edge of threw him back through the plague of nostalgia and had him acting like his old self again.

He needed a new start. It just never seemed to happen.

The pain of all of this was surprising. Maybe that was why he hadn’t just run from it. He was destabilised. The loneliness had come out of the blue, a shockingly bad surprise, made worse by the fact that for the first time, it was new. This wasn’t the loneliness he’d suffered whilst living in the White House. This wasn’t the loneliness he’d felt in his twenties, without friends and not wanting a family. This was loss. He’d had Steve, he’d lost that loneliness, then it had all come back. 

It was Sean all over again. Except this time there was hope. This wasn’t a clean break where he could tumble into his dangerous thoughts and give the whole ‘not living thing’ another go (god, he should stop joking about it. But, well, he was coping, you know?). This was being dragged out long after its sell-by date.

TJ didn’t know what to do.

But, well, even his heart was still racing, his breath was even. That would have to be enough. Careful of his trembling hands, cushion still pressed to his chest, knees pulled up along with it, he typed out a response. ‘Glad your OK. R u coming back any time soon? I’d love to c u.’ He didn’t mention Bucky. Purposefully, he should add. He didn’t want to know. The closer they were, the closer he was to losing Steve. The further they were, the longer this would be dragged out. 

It took Steve an hour to reply. Said he didn’t know. The sheer lack of effort was infuriating. A scream bubbled beneath TJ’s vocal cords but never came up, if only out of respect for his neighbours. TJ stared at his phone, shaking with unrelenting anger. Decisively, he turned it off and deemed Steve not worthy of his attention.

Without a reason to let it hang around, TJ took his phone to his the bedroom and plugged it in. He collapsed onto his bed, head in his hands and finally gave in to the anger, letting the swathes of chaos wash over him. He worked his way through it, breathing heavily. It wasn’t the first time he felt helpless to do anything, and it wouldn’t be the last. He just needed to work through it.

Rolling his shoulders, he pushed them back and held his head high, determined not to let this ruin his day. He was sober, he was doing well and - most importantly - he didn’t need Steve. 

He could trick himself of that. For now.

Dawdling, he made his back to the living room, collapsing onto the sofa, determined to watch an episode of trashy TV and wash his life away. “You know Steve.” TJ, admittedly, screamed. And he screamed like a little girl. He knew that. Honestly, though, he was allowed. A mere statement said by a masked man in the corner was about as much plot as you needed for a horror movie nowadays.

“Fuck,” TJ muttered under his breath. Did he even have a weapon in here? How the fuck was he supposed to protect himself. “Fuck!” He hissed louder. The man remained silent but now, as his eyes adjusted themselves to the darkness, he was clearer. His silhouette was relaxed, not prepared to attack (but, fuck, what did TJ know). His face was covered by a mask but his eyes were piercingly light, reflecting whatever small amount of light they could find. His hair was enough of a task in itself, trailing down the sides of his face, casting shadows across the man’s features.

Whoever he was, he was a professional. For the life of him, TJ could not have given a description to the police with the man there in front of them. “C-can I turn the light on?” Fucking stupid thing to ask but it was worth a shot. TJ was shaking, more than he ever had before; more than he had during his hopeless relapses and desperate attempts at withdrawal. His terror was paralysing. He didn’t even think to run.

“Tell me about Steve,” the man repeated. His voice was gravelly and thick, like a heavy smoker’s. Yet it was young. Hardly bright, or innocent, not even unwise, but undeniably young.

“Well, what do you want to know?” If it stopped TJ from being murdered, he would say anything. Although…this could have been one of Steve’s enemies. Using TJ for their own gain. Maybe this was HYDRA! But the only one who looked like that…

Bucky.

“Bucky, right? That’s you. Do you want to know about Steve before? Because, really, I’m not an expert,” he rambled. “Like, at all. He’s kinda private.” He was stared down, all of his questions unanswered. The man was like a black hole, unwittingly inviting whilst scaring the ever-loving shit out of you. “But, well, I can just…talk about him?” Slowly, with the least confidence he’d seen in the man…Bucky, the man was Bucky…nodded. “Well, Steve’s…nice. I mean, should I tell you what he looks like. Like, you know, appearance? Or do you know that? I mean, you’ve known him a lot longer than I have.” TJ didn’t pause as he changed tracks. “Do you know he’s looking for you? I mean, like, really looking for you. You know what, I’m gonna call him.”

“You won’t.”

“Won’t I- oh, of course not. Yup, not calling him. Okay, got that. Fucking hell.” Well, oddly enough, it wasn’t the first time a gun had been pointed at him. “Can you put the gun down?” The gun slowly went to the man’s…Bucky’s lap. God knew where he got it from to begin with. “Thank you.” TJ let himself relax a fraction and turned to face Bucky, knees pulled up to his chest in a childish reaction to fear. “Can you tell me what you want to know? It- it would make it easier that way. Or we could, you know, swap questions. I’m a bit…God, I don’t know. This is a bit of a surprise, really. I mean, why are you here?”

“You know about Steve.”

“Well, yeah, but-“  _ I can’t be the only one _ . “Okay, no, I guess you came to the right place.”

“Tell…” Bucky’s eyes trailed to his lap, like he was shy. “Tell me about him now.”

“Okay, well, he’s Captain America-“

“No!” It was the most emotion that he’d managed to get out of him. “I…I want to…I want Steve. Not…” Bucky clutched his head. 

“You want to know about Steve Rogers, not Captain America?” Bucky nodded.

“Okay. So, Steve, well…he’s really nice. To me, I mean. You know, when he’s around, he takes care of me. I’ve…well…I’ve been through quite a lot of crap. Probably self-inflicted. But, he’s been helping me.” Bucky smiled; TJ wasn’t sure why. “He’s caring. But he’s funny. A bit stoic, you know, but, well, he’s all a bit 40s. Is that why you’re like…this. No, wait, ignore that. I mean-“

“I’m not Bucky.”

“Oh. Ok. Would you like to be called James?”

“I’m the Asset.”

“Um, yeah, I’m really sorry…Asset. And, like, please don’t kill me,” TJ’s eyes wouldn’t stop staring at the gun, “but that’s not a name.”

“I…I don’t have a name.”

“Could you…um, could you take off the mask? If you…if you took off the mask, I could identify you. I know…I know that’s probably scary and all because you’re like…a spy, or something. But, please, I can help.” 

Bucky, apparently sensing no threat, slowly raised a metal ( _ metal _ ) arm to his face and took it off, a slow pop when the suction was released. And, well…fuck, this was messed up. When Steve had said they looked similar, TJ understood. But, facing it now, looking at it. This was…

It was a bit insane.

They were like twins raised on opposite sides of the world. It was nature vs nurture. Whilst TJ couldn’t differentiate the colours, the shape of his jaw and the cleft of his jaw were both there. There were no wrinkles, like when TJ was twenty, but there were scars instead. Bucky had stubble where TJ could never hope to grow any but had the exact same cut of his cheekbones. It was…not to repeat himself, but it was insane.

“I think…I think your name used to be James Barnes. Or Bucky. From your middle name. I- I’m not sure what it was but…that’s what I can remember from school- Have you looked in a mirror?” TJ asked abruptly. Bucky’s head quirked to the side. “Yeah, you really need to look in the mirror.” TJ stood up, really hoping there wouldn’t be a gun on his back, and started towards the bathroom. He heard no footsteps behind him but when he turned, there Bucky was, closer than TJ would have imagined. Withholding the flinch was impossible but Bucky didn’t seem to mind. If anything, the first flickering of a smile seemed to cross over his face. Although, TJ really wasn’t sure if Bucky could actually smile anymore.

And wasn’t that horrible. Fuck. Now wasn’t the time to think about that.

“Oh god, fuck, okay, you’re there. Just…follow me.” TJ led them into the bathroom, the mirror-covered wall the first thing they saw. Bucky stopped short behind TJ, finally visible without TJ turning around. Even through the ever-present darkness, TJ could see his face flitter through a myriad of emotions but settle on its usual, impossible stoicism. In the face of this mess, Bucky decided to show nothing. TJ wished he could do that. He wondered where he learnt it. How he learnt it.

Then didn’t follow the thought through. He knew where it would probably lead.

Looking in the mirror again, the shock returned. It was odd. TJ almost looked more like Bucky than Bucky did. He had that boyish grin and charm that Bucky had lost, even if TJ lacked the confidence to pull it off as Bucky did in all those WWII reels that they showed in high school, giving way to a darker enemy. 

Bucky was now someone else entirely, exacerbated by the metal appendage and Kurt-Cobain-esque hair. TJ wanted to laugh but…well, it probably wasn’t appropriate. 

“We look the same,” Bucky finally commented. His face barely moved, the lips so close that TJ wondered - idiotically - whether they trained him in ventriloquy. 

“Yeah. We do.” TJ finally had the time to look at Bucky, without fear of harm. Bucky was doing the same to him. And this time, it wasn’t with a gaze that warned of later mutilation. TJ was safe. For now. Probably.

Bucky looked haggard. That became apparent pretty quickly. Even in the darkness, the black under his eyes was so dark that it shone. Purple mottled areas of the skin that clearly hadn’t been injured; the green tinges suggested malnutrition. Or, well, TJ thought so, at least. He didn’t actually have a clue. From what little was visible under his armour, the bruises were not just above his shoulders. He just looked tired and in need of a meal.

And…well…TJ could help with that. Steve wanted him to. If Steve were here, he’d have already gotten four meals into Bucky and been shouting about his stupidity. Bucky had run from him, after all. TJ could at least do his part.

“Do you…I mean, you don’t have to or anything, but do you want to stay the night? I- I could get you a meal or something. You could sleep?”

“I am dangerous?” Phrased like a question. Interesting. 

“Yet you haven’t hurt me.” Yet. This was a risk; he understood that. He’d take it anyway. For Steve.

Always for Steve.


	22. alone

** Monday, 1st December 2014 **

The last few months were both sluggish and a snap. TJ flittered from one thing to the next, unsure of himself and the chaos around him. He drew towards his family before throwing himself away, all whilst checking his phone for a call that never came. Steve had given up. Really, this time. Or, well, not given up. Steve  _ never _ gave up, TJ knew that. This wasn’t…that. This was something else.

Something had happened with Steve. 

Something TJ didn’t know about.

But TJ didn’t like to dwell. Or, well, he did, but he didn’t want to right now. Or ever. It was best to be avoided. Anyway, he powered on, as he always did: a little frayed around the edges, a little frail. Still sober. Well, okay, he’d drunk a bit, but not  _ lots _ . So it was  _ fine _ .

Yes, fine.

Fine!

On Monday mornings like these, TJ would rather not get up. His bed was warm, really warm, and the day was just too cold to face. Well, not particularly. Actually, for December, it was rather warm. But TJ liked his bed. It was easier in there. But, no, he couldn’t stay in there forever. He had things to do. A bit, anyway. For one, he was going to try and sell that godforsaken Lamborghini. Though he didn’t really know where to begin. Or how to get the money back to his parents without them noticing.

Then again, they’d never noticed him taking it.

On that note, he really needed to talk to Nana.

So, getting on with life. Yes. Doing that. Checking his phone too. Yep, no messages. That was fine. Just because their conversation had got too awkward to bear didn’t mean that it was an entirely lost cause. Who knew, maybe TJ would see Steve soon. Maybe Steve would find Bucky! Maybe, just maybe, Bucky might come to see TJ.

TJ didn’t know where the thought really came from. He didn’t particularly like Bucky. Then again, he didn’t hate him either. His character was a little dubious, sure,  _ especially _ after he’d crawled out the guest bedroom window last time. TJ had made the bed and everything!

Heaving a sigh, TJ tried to forget about the mess and plodded into the kitchen. He dragged his hands down his face and tried to stay calm. It was his new  _ thing _ right now. Yes, thing. He was, well, he was a bit jittery. A bit, yeah, just a bit. And, you know, his mum had said something about therapy and TJ, as usual, had stared her right in the eye and said “n-

“I’ll think about it.”

Not the point, though. His mum, after that little diversion, had talked to him for a bit and had somehow ended up mentioning about a friend who was in therapy (she didn’t have friends but she sure as hell didn’t have time for a therapist so God knows where this came from) and how they said that he needed to start accepting what he was feeling rather than pushing it away and then trying to go about his day with it.

Not as easy as it would first appear. Ends up, ‘going about your day’ and ‘distracting yourself’ were  _ very _ similar. If he was honest, TJ didn’t really see the difference. However, he was trying, as much as he ever could. He was sober, he was cooking whenever he had the time (all the time) and he had even sat down and read a book. An impressive feat,  _ he knows _ . 

So, he rustled himself up some eggs (scrambled, his favourite) and tried to shovel them in without thinking about Steve. Hard, really. He definitely had a lapse or two.

Or ten.

But look, he had a dilemma. Steve wasn’t really talking to him but he wasn’t  _ not _ talking to him. If TJ had the guts to ring  _ him _ , he was sure Steve would pick up. Unless he was actually busy, that was. But  _ no _ , TJ had to wait for Steve to call because in his head it was some kind of inconvenient test of loyalty. One that Steve was failing. Miserably. At the thought, TJ’s first instinct was ‘end it’, like any sane person would. Then again, TJ wasn’t sane. He was a little more than  _ in _ sane, frankly. Because he wasn’t going to let Rogers go. He couldn’t, he really couldn’t. 

As he cleaned and dried the dishes, he decided that times called for desperate measures. It was hitting him hard today (a new month and another missed call). You know what that called for?

Baking.

Stress-baking. And what to bake today? Lazily, he leafed through the pages of his baking book (because who said he didn’t attempt self-care?). Nothing really caught his fancy until…well, how could he pass it up? Homemade fudge. Almost immediately, his mouth flooded, hunger raging inside of him. Memory caught him and swallowed him in his trap. He suddenly saw his mothers smile and her hand around a spoon. Because of course she couldn’t make anything but fudge, a hand-me-down from her aunt. Nana’s sister. Who was a  _ lot _ more sensible than Nana.

TJ smiled and immediately ran his finger down the ingredients. He didn’t have a few small things but substitutes were easy and, look, it was never going to taste as good as his mothers so a few little changes weren’t going to matter in the long run.

Losing himself in the chaotic comfort of a set of complicated instructions, TJ put on a tune and danced around the kitchen, happily swaying his hips as he hid a smile behind the large mixing spoon, a slimy ball of fudge cooling on the top. And, well, maybe it wasn’t as good as his mums but it was a  _ close _ second. Maybe those substitutes were for the best. 

Pride welled up inside his chest, a fluttering beat of his heart reminding himself that he hadn’t completely wasted the last few months. And yes, he hadn’t quite found a job yet. And yes, he hadn’t quite reconciled with his boyfriend yet. And yes, maybe he still kind of wanted a cyborg assassin to show up on his doorstep. But,  _ but _ , he had taught himself a few things. He’d picked up baking, a run on from his fun in the kitchen when he cooked. He’d learnt to draw a bit and even found some fun animation software to mess with. He wasn’t good, and that was objectively speaking, but it was fun and it made him smile a bit to see his silly doodles move, even if they were just stickmen half the time.

He was having fun. Enough that the times in between didn’t feel so bad. The numbness was almost dormant. Present, underlying, but never fully there. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

When he was finally cutting the cooling fudge into squares, a noise finally pillaged the soothing cadence of a piano. The door. TJ sighed and dropped the knife, walking to the door with an exasperation that always came from an unexpected visit, usually from a family member. He didn’t really know who was around today but there was always one. Always.

I wasn’t a family member.

Bucky stared at him, haggard and lost, his eyes like cracking ice, black seeping through the gaping holes and pooling thick emptiness in his irises. TJ, for almost the first time, was genuinely, unutterably scared. But then the man just sighed, let his shoulders drop and whispered a hoarse “can I come in?”

It was like the whiplash of code-switching with his body. That Winter Soldier mystique gave way to a broken man, a  _ tortured _ man, underneath. The black in his eyes became blue and the cracking ice flooded into water. Tears never spilt, though. TJ didn’t know if Bucky was capable of tears anymore. But it was there, a shiny film over his cornea, hidden and tucked away in the recesses of his awareness. 

“Of course!” TJ said, a little too loudly, ushering Bucky inside, his eyes darting warily around the street to see if anyone was watching. Of course, there wasn’t, Bucky would never have made that mistake. It was a surprise, there was still sunlight out.

TJ felt a little guilty that the first thought was  _ had he killed them? _

TJ was sure he hadn’t. Or, well, he was kinda sure. Yeah…

Well, moving on.

“Do you want anything? I have fudge. And coffee!” Bucky didn’t answer. Didn’t move at all. The Winter Soldier wasn’t back but the stillness remained, like he could make himself a part of the surroundings without even trying, hiding in plain sight. TJ decided to power onwards, finishing his cutting and plating up some of the fudge whilst the coffee brewed. Without knowing what Bucky liked, he made the assumption that black coffee would be for the best ( _ like his soul _ ). He put a dash of milk and sugar in his own and put it all on a tray to bring it into the living room. For the first time in a long time, he was thankful for his mother and her odd purchases. It was affection, he was sure of it, but it could be…well, it came across oddly sometimes.

Especially when she’d bought him an ornate tray.

But look! Here he was using it. Silently, he beckoned Bucky to sit down, surprised by the obsequiousness as Bucky mechanically dropped onto the sofa, staring blankly at the wall. TJ nudged the plate over to Bucky’s side of the coffee table and started nibbling at his own, repressing the groan of pleasure at the taste. He didn’t want to seem…well, he didn’t want to seem weird.

God, he was being stupid. Who was  _ Bucky _ to care?

Anyway, TJ took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. He settled in the tension, basking in the thickly oppressive atmosphere until slowly drained away. Bucky seemed to revel in the silence. His ears pricked whenever a sound drifted from nearby but overall, he seemed more relaxed than TJ had ever seen him. So, it seemed like a good time to break that silence.

Good going, TJ.

“So, how have you been?”

Look, the thing was, TJ was trying to remember what Steve had done for  _ him _ and do it for Bucky. But, you know, both of them could admit that Steve’s strong suit wasn’t emotions. Although he had a very forceful propensity towards helping others with their emotions, his own emotional repression made it hard for his usual blistering sincerity to come across. So TJ’s words came across lacklustre, his mimicry of a mimicry a fraud in the face of conspiracy. 

“I’ve been…” Bucky’s words tapered off, his voice rough and gravelly. Unused, TJ noted. It almost sounded painful. “Fine.”

TJ huffed a laugh. “You sound like Steve.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed but he didn’t ask. It looked like it was a ‘words are hard day’. TJ didn’t know  _ how _ he knew that, seeing as Bucky had never really said much around him anyway but maybe it was the familiar tension lines around Bucky’s lips or the crows feet at the edge of his eyes, distinct on his unblemished skin. TJ was afraid of how well he could read him.

This was an assassin, a  _ spy _ , his movements shouldn’t have felt so familiar. 

Bucky slowly brought a piece of fudge to his mouth, much to TJ’s delight. The coffee had most definitely gone cold but TJ didn’t mind. Worst come to worse, TJ would stick it in the microwave. Bucky had a metal hand and everything so he wouldn’t have to wait for it to cool down.

It was funny seeing an assassin eat. TJ really knew he shouldn’t find the whole ‘I was tortured for 70 years’ thing amusing,  _ and he didn’t _ , but when you saw a man look so curious about something as small as a block of fudge, it really did tickle your funny bone. Pride swelled in his chest as Bucky took a bite and hummed lowly. It wasn’t quite praise, or a smile, but TJ was sure it was as close as Bucky ever got so…well, TJ couldn’t help it.

“You really do sound like Steve. Probably because you grew up together and all.” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed but TJ barraged on. Subtly wasn’t lost on him but, well, if getting Bucky to remember meant that Steve’s goose chase was over, then it was for the best. “He talks about you a lot.” He didn’t really expect Bucky to answer, not really, but he still felt the niggling disappointment when he didn’t. “You sound like a real nice guy. I mean, I kinda got that already. It’s odd. For someone who doesn’t speak, you are…you know, just nice.” Bucky’s eyes flickered up from their steadfast attention on the table and what TJ possibly imagined to be a smile quirked the edges of his lips. A silent thanks. Or so TJ decided. “Yeah, nice. But, anyway, I feel like I should just shut up now.”

“No.” It was barely a statement, barely a  _ noise _ , yet it gripped TJ, holding him in a vice and pushing more words from his mouth. 

“Okay, so, um, keep talking. I can do that. Yeah. I can do that. So, well, I mean, Steve, he’s-“

“Chasing me.”

“Well, yes, but-“ TJ didn’t know where to go on from that, his mind stuck on a loop, his lips opening and closing and opening and closing and-

“But I wasn’t going to dwell on that because, well, that makes me nervous and that’s just…that’s not a great idea right now.” Bucky opened his mouth, as if he was going to ask why, before he shut it again, an odd robotic mimicry of TJ’s action. “I was just gonna talk about him. I guess you probably knew a different Steve to me. I mean, most people know a different Steve. It’s all kind of screwed up that way. Not that I’m special! It’s just, I mean- never mind.” TJ heaved a sigh and pressed the ball of his palm into his eyes and tries to wipe away the exhaustion suddenly overcoming him. Extroversion was a natural trait yet now the energy of talking seemed to be draining him until he was running on empty. 

“You don’t like this.” Well, wasn’t he suddenly talkative, the disgruntled voice in TJ’s head spat.

“Well, I mean, kinda lot of pressure this whole making you remember thing is.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” The statement was pointless. Bucky had known what TJ was doing from the start; TJ had known what he was doing from the start; TJ had known that Bucky had known what he was doing from the start. So, seriously, this fake ‘innocent’ act was fooling nobody. 

Except for TJ. 

Because goddamnit, didn’t the weakness show when Bucky tried; helplessness pooling in the blue of his eyes, lost tears lining the corners of his eyes.

“I mean, yeah, because. I mean, I didn’t mean to offend or anything but-“

“No.” TJ was getting sick of this robot act already. No, he was sick of the  _ act _ . Who the hell was the real Bucky? Was it the man who had the traces of a smile on his face as he ate homemade fudge? Was it the man who couldn’t be anything but an asset of Hydra, robotic and empty. Was it the downtrodden man who appeared at his door, haggard and loss, looking for some sort of companionship?

TJ couldn’t see. The facade was so thick on Bucky’s skin, so long-lasting that there was no hope of it cracking. Yet it all it would take was for Bucky to pull it down and let the emotions tumble out with it, spilling a broken heart onto the empty floor. 

But maybe that was dramatic.

“Um, okay, so…” TJ trailed off, his words lost yet again. Nothing seemed suitable. He’d mentioned Steve, yet it had been diverted, and it didn’t feel normal to loop back around on himself. And what else was he supposed to talk about? Maybe himself, but Bucky would have no interest in that. Missions? Maybe that was what the Asset liked. But Bucky wasn’t the Asset…

Well, TJ would like to hope not.

Suddenly, Bucky stood, eyes as clouded as the sky outside. “I’m sorry.”

TJ’s eyes darted to Bucky’s eyes, neck-craning as he failed to maintain eye contact. “What?”

“I-“ Words failed Bucky too. “I intruded.” It sounded like an apology, maybe it was one, but the monotony buried meaning behind layers of vapid guesses.

“No, I invited you in-“ The defence felt clunky after the awkward silence, a false claim. But it was true, even if TJ would rather bury himself under a 1000 duvets right now, he had invited Bucky in. There was no intruder. Not this time.

“I intruded,” Bucky repeated, a tonal replica of his last statement. God, that was getting creepy.

“No-“

But Bucky had already left, leaving nothing but a displacement of dust. His footsteps were silent, like he hadn’t even moved yet the space was empty. The fudge still lay half-eaten on the table, proof of  _ someone _ being there. Yet TJ could barely find himself looking at it, swallowed by the sudden silence. The emptiness in his chest was no longer a surprise but it hurt nonetheless, the slow aching of loneliness an old friend.

But TJ would power on.

It’s what he did now.


	23. remembering myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, that's the end for now. maybe I'll do more in the future but I don't want to commit to anything yet

** Sunday, 8th February 2015 **

TJ woke up and didn’t move. He stared…and stared…

And stared…

He shuffled up the bed until he was leaning against the headboard and-

stared.

He-

He just needed to-

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and drew in a toxically large breath. Moving one foot in front of the other, he plodded towards the bathroom, dragging his feet behind him. Spraying some deodorant on, he forwent a shower and ran a hand through his greasy hair and deemed that it was ‘okay’ enough to ignore. 

He told himself it was Sunday, it was a  _ lazy _ day. He could stay in his pyjamas and relax. It would be great, he told himself. He deserved it.

(What month was it again?)

With tired eyes, he poured himself some cereal and ate it with minimal notice. With that done, he sat on the sofa and

stared.

So, it was going well. Really, it was. He’d been doing a lot recently, and it felt good to relieve some of the stress of…

Well, he’d gone out yesterday. He’d seen his mum on Wednesday. Doug had called too! He’d done a lot. Really. He just…did a lot from home now. Lots of emails.  _ Loads _ . He spent a lot of time on his laptop now.

A lot.

Despondently, he decided to check his phone. Maybe Doug would call again to check in. Or maybe he’d ask for a favour this time, give TJ something to do-

Of course, TJ was plenty busy, so he didn’t  _ need _ Doug to ask for a favour or anything.

There’s nothing on there.

(He does not think about Steve. He  _ doesn’t. _ )

The rest of the day is spent blank. Colour shifted to grey as he stared blankly at the midday gameshows of Sunday TV. Sound dulled to a mere ache. His senses deserted him as he just

stared.

After three hours of cooking shows, and the clock hitting five, he decided the best way to spend his time was to cook. He’d liked cooking-  _ he liked cooking _ , so it was worth a shot. Well, not a shot. He was a good cook. Just-

He was going to cook, okay?

It failed to muster much. He stared at the sizzling pan and forgot that the food inside was burning. Then, plating of the burnt chicken breasts, he remembered the vegetables were in the oven. Also burnt. The chips weren’t anywhere near done but in his panic, he’d plated them up too, just to prove he hadn’t burnt  _ everything _ . It was decidedly the worst thing he’d ever cooked. He didn’t find himself caring.

He was finally digging into the… food(?) when there was a knock on the door. Irritation surged through him but he threw his fork down and stormed to the door. If this was his mother again-

Okay, so there was some explanation to be given. As stated, TJ had seen his mother on Wednesday. It was all great, she’d asked how he was doing, how the Dome was doing (to which he answered it was fine; not a lie, especially now that he had  _ nothing to do with it _ ) and hadn’t mentioned the missing money for the Lamborghini he still had in hiding. He’d sell it soon, he would. And give the money back.  _ He would _ . Then, the inevitable passed, and she asked how he  _ really _ was. A subtle intervention, veiled behind ten political layers that TJ couldn’t begin to parse. She’d talked about the drugs and drink and boys and the rest of it. She’d asked about Steve (which she technically knew nothing about but was smart enough to  _ know everything about it _ ). TJ had suffered through the interview with a face of steel, bleaching any signs of weakness: a skill he’d had since he was still a child. 

Something told him she’d come back to reiterate her point. She always did that before it got bad. She’d give her first warning, then her second, then she’d give up and act like it was  _ TJ’s _ fault that she backed away when things got really bad. Or, well, TJ thought so. 

A bitter vitriol broke his step as he strode to the door, ready to give his best attempt at a glare, and opened it with a speech on his tongue he could give to-

Bucky. 

Well, shit.

Something is immediately off about his presence. The stance, the posture, the evidence that Bucky was  _ there _ . Not entirely; clouds still mist his eyes but there’s a certain hint of blue that wasn’t there before. The ice was breaking.

TJ wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that.


End file.
